The council said nothing when Gwen told them she was going to visit the place where Arthur fell. And within the day, she and Merlin were riding out towards the small village which was supposedly home to a man who looked exactly like her late husband.

Merlin was far from pleased.

As the campfire roared between them, Gwen studied Merlin's profile in the flickering light. Tension was clearly written all over it and he refused to meet her eyes.

"Maybe he will just be a lookalike and we'd have had a little trip away from the stress of Camelot," she said, trying to lighten the mood. "It'll be like old times, when the two of us had nothing to worry about except our masters having clean clothes to wear."

Merlin finally tore his gaze from the fire. "I never liked laundry and at least Morgana never wore that finicky armour like Arthur."

Gwen smiled and she played with a twig. "Those were good times, weren't they? I never thought my life would end up like this."

"Sometimes," Merlin said, staring into the fire once again, "I wish I never came to Camelot. That I'd ignored my mother, stayed in Ealdor, helped with the village."

"You had a destiny."

"And so did Arthur." He paused, shifted and Gwen could see that he was about to say something she didn't want to hear. "Gwen, don't - don't get your hopes up, alright?"

Her toes drew a circle in the sand. "You think he's a lookalike."

"I hope it is a lookalike. Because people returning from the dead is never good news."

Clothed in a dress from her serving days, Gwen blended easily into the crowd at the tavern. A quick scan of the place told her that there was no one who looked like Arthur there and her heart sank. Despite the impossibility of Arthur being alive, deep inside she'd hoped that he had somehow defeated death, the same way he always seemed to so many times before.

"Are you looking for someone?" A friendly woman, a sloshing tankard in one hand, the other on her hip, asked.

"We heard that there was a young man who arrived recently. Blonde, about this tall -"

"Oh," the woman said as her eyes narrowed. "You must mean Kay. Nice fellow, great at hard labour." Her smile wavered and she looked at Gwen and Merlin with blatant curiosity. "Do you know him?"

"We might," offered Merlin. "Where is he?"

"He's in the village ten minutes away. He's helping the blacksmith."

"Well," said Merlin wryly as they made the walk to the village, "this probably means that's not Arthur. He might be able swing a sword relatively well, but making one is a completely different matter."

But the moment Gwen rounded the corner of the blacksmith's cottage, she saw him, his blonde hair falling messily over his eyes, his jaw clenched in concentration. He was hammering indelicately at a piece of metal and with every stroke, her own heart thudded against her ribcage.

It was Arthur. Sir Rowan was right. She was sure of it.

"Gwen," whispered Merlin and she knew he had the same realisation.

In front of them stood Arthur Pendragon, returned from the dead.

Kay swiped one hand across his forehead, wiping away the sweat that beaded there as he looked out on the village. Of all the odd jobs he did for the village, helping the blacksmith was the most tedious. But they had taken him in as if he was family, fed him and took care of him so it seemed churlish to complain. Still, despite the blacksmith's detailed instructions which made his eyes glaze over, he was still having difficulty shaping the sword.

He was still pounding against the hot metal when he heard the commotion. There wasn't any sense of urgency so it was unlikely to be the dawn raiders. He grabbed it as an excuse to stop his work and peek out of the forge. A small group had gathered around two figures, one a male, the other shrouded in a long, green cloak. Just visitors then, possibly passing merchants. Sighing, he went back to his work.

"You're holding the hammer wrongly."

He looked up into brown eyes. For a moment he thought he saw tears in them but the lady standing in front him blinked and her eyes were dry.

"Are you a blacksmith?" he asked politely. He studied her, the way her dark curls framed her delicate face, the way her eyes stared guilelessly at him, the way her hand held her stomach and desire, strong and almost painful, shot through him. "Because as you can tell, I'm not."

A smile appeared on her face, making her even more beautiful to him. "I can tell."

Her voice trembled and he wondered if she was nervous around him. And if so, why would she approach him? Before he could ask, she stepped closer to him, her light lavender scent drifting to his nose, causing his groin to tighten. A vague sense of familiarity tickled the back of his mind as she approached him. "Here. I'll show you."

His concentration was shot the moment she curled her long fingers around his wrist. She continued to talk, demonstrating how to hammer the metal but all he could focus on was the heat her touch left behind and the brush of her curls against his arm.

Eventually she stopped and took a step back. Her chest heaved, as if she was as affected by his nearness as he was hers. Or perhaps smiting was a tiring endeavour.

"I'm Kay," he rasped, not knowing what else to say as he fought the urge to touch her, to pull her against him, to feel the heat of her touch again, a touch that made him think of home. Only, he had no idea where or what home was.

She smiled but it didn't reach her beautiful brown eyes. "I'm Gwen. And this," she turned and gestured to the skinny man who had been hovering some distance away, "is Ambrose."

He nodded to Ambrose, then turned his attention back to her. "Gwen." He said her name, wonderingly as a memory tugged at the back of his head, but like all the memories he had before, it was slippery and disappeared the moment he paid it any attention. "Are you passing through?"

"Something like that. We thought we might stay a while. Rest." She smiled again but again, it was tinged with sadness. The sudden need to know what made her so sad and to fix it gripped him. She looked at his hands, then to his sword which he kept by his side.

"Is something wrong?"

"No. It's just that your sword looks like it's of exquisite quality. Would you mind if I had a look at it?"

"I'm almost done here. You'll be looking for room at the tavern. Why don't you wait a little and I'll walk the two of you over. You can admire my sword then," he said lightly, wanting to spend more time with her. Perhaps, at the tavern, Amber with her constant good spirits and chatter would make Gwen smile with more happiness. For some reason, this was important to him.

He watched as the two of them glanced at each other, some sort of communication taking place simply through their eyes. Then Ambrose nodded. "It's been a long journey. A drink and some food would be good."

The three of them walked slowly along the path to the tavern. Kay could feel Ambrose's eyes on him every step of the way while Gwen, in contrast, refused to look at him. The walk was an exercise in awkwardness and he almost regretted the offer to take them to the tavern.

"Have you lived here long?" Ambrose asked. "I come from Ealdor, a small village some two days from here."

"Not really," he said, his eyes still on Gwen who was walking slightly ahead. "Is Gwen from Ealdor too?"

"No, she's from Camelot."

"And you two are? You don't have enough goods to be merchants and neither of you look like you are mercenaries."

"We're travellers," said Ambrose vaguely. Kay would have probed more but they reached the tavern and the smell of dinner wafted through the heavy wooden doors, making his stomach growl. Just as he was about to push open the doors, Amber came dashing out from the side of the tavern.

"Kay!" she yelled as she flung herself into his arms. Laughing, he caught her, tickled her sides before swinging her around. From the corner of his eyes, he noticed that Gwen's expression had become almost pained. Her hand once again drifted to her stomach and she looked down. "Are these your friends?"

Gently placing Amber back on the ground, he took her hand. "This is Gwen and this is Ambrose. They're visitors."

"Hello," she smiled broadly. He saw Gwen swallow before slowly kneeling down so that she was eye to eye with Amber.

"Hi. What's your name?"

"Amber. You're pretty. Are you a princess?"

Ambrose shook his head. "If she were a princess, we would be accompanied by knights, wouldn't we?"

"Come Amber. Ambrose and Gwen need a room. Why don't you let your mum know?"

"Yes, Kay. Nice to meet you!" Amber dashed off into the tavern but Gwen still knelt on the muddy ground.

Instinctively, he offered her his hand. After a moment's hesitation, she took it and got up carefully.

"Come, let's go inside." He knew he should let go of her hand but he didn't and she didn't pull away either. He could still feel Ambrose's eyes on him.

He watched as Gwen's fingers trailed along the flat edge of his blade, lingering at the symbols carved into it. "It's a good sword. I wish I knew who forged it," he said, wanting to break the heavy silence between them. Muriel had agreed to let them two rooms and was preparing dinner for all of them. Ambrose had reluctantly gone to collect the food while Amber sat on his lap, her usual chatter dampened by the strange atmosphere.

"It is. It's one of a kind," Gwen said, a wistfulness in her voice.

Finally Amber piped up. "When I'm older, Kay is going to teach me how to use his sword."

"Really?" said Gwen, smiling. "I'm sure Kay is a brilliant swordsman. He'll be a brilliant teacher as well."

"He is! He taught me how to swim! But I can't go to the deep part of the lake without him."

Gwen's eyes met his and she smiled slightly. "That's wonderful."

"It's no big deal," he said.

Just then, Ambrose returned with their food. "What's no big deal?"

"Amber was just telling me what a good teacher Art - Kay is."

Ambrose said nothing but laid out the plates. "Let's eat. We have a long night and day ahead of us," he said brusquely, leaving Kay to wonder again about the sudden mood changes that kept happening.

Dinner was easily the most uncomfortable one he could remember. While Amber and Gwen kept up a constant, if superficial, conversation, Ambrose kept darting glances at him. Kay had the strangest feeling that Ambrose knew him, yet Ambrose said nothing.

Popping the final piece of bread into his mouth was a relief. Amber had finished and was regaling Gwen with a story of her adventures in what she called the dark forest. Kay watched as Gwen listened, smiled and nodded as if Amber was the most interesting story-teller, asking questions when needed and he couldn't help but smile at the way Amber preened under the attention. His eyes travelled to Gwen's face, gazing at the pools of brown that held so much sadness that she tried to hide, down to her lips. Her dark curls were tied neatly in a braid and his hands itched to free them, wanting to see how she looked with her curls loose around her face. She was beautiful and he couldn't help the pull of attraction he felt. He shifted slightly, knocking his hand against the table, and he glanced down at his hand.

Immediately guilt hit him. He likely had a wife somewhere, one he hadn't had much success in finding. Guilt tugged at him again. Deep inside he knew, after the first few days when he'd practically interrogated every passing merchant, he hadn't done a lot to discover who he was. There was a vague plan to go to Camelot but there was always reason he couldn't leave Helb. And the longer he stayed, the more he wondered if it was easier to just start over here rather than chase shadows.

"Come, Amber. Clear the table. It's almost bedtime." It wasn't really but sitting at the table with Ambrose and Gwen was making everything too complicated and confusing. Surely, if they knew him, they would have said so by now. And if they didn't, why was he feeling this way around them?

Amber grumbled at his instructions but slid off his lap and picked up some of the plates. Kay grabbed the rest, muttering a quick goodbye before disappearing behind the bar where Muriel stood.

"Those two new guests really like you. The female especially. I see the way she looks at you," teased Muriel as she took the dishes from Kay.

"I like her too!" said Amber.

Laughing Muriel ruffled her hair. "I've yet to meet someone you don't like, Amber."

AN: I am overwhelmed by the lovely, lovely comments. Thank you. Also, the next bit might take a bit longer. Sorry!