It was a sunny spring morning, and the courtyard was full of milling figures in bright colors. Everyone had been warned to be on their best behavior for the delegation from Essetir, including King Gaheris, the son and recent successor to Lot's throne. The two kings planned to sign a peace treaty in the next few days, and the peace would be celebrated with feasts, minstrels, and a tournament. The air in the courtyard was one of excitement, not anxiety: there had been signs that Gaheris was very different from his brutal father, and was quite willing to have peace. It had been a year since Morgana's most recent invasion with the help of the Southrons. Camelot had recovered: the houses rebuilt, the farms replanted. Everyone was ready for a chance to eat, drink, and be merry.
Gwaine and Anna stood behind a pillar, half-hidden from Arthur and Leon, who stood chatting on the steps. They had their arms around one another and were talking quietly.
"How's Mordred fitting in?" Anna asked.
"Quite well. He's a sweet-tempered kid—everybody likes him." He looked at her narrowly. "That's the second time you've asked me that this week. You seem interested in his progress."
"I'm interested in the welfare of anyone who would help get you out of those caves—and that woman's clutches," she answered. "I could have kissed him when you all came back—if I could have torn myself away from you."
"Mmmm… I remember. You were clinging to me like a limpet."
"Not like a limpet!"
"A limpet."
"As I recall, I wasn't the only one doing the clinging."
"Lies." He kissed her.
"They're here," Arthur announced from the steps. "Everyone back to their places. Gwaine, stop canoodling."
Anna scurried back to her post, bright red but smiling sheepishly. Gwaine strolled back to his. "But I like canoodling," he complained.
"I thought Gwaine flirting was bad," Arthur said to Merlin, just loud enough for Gwaine to hear. "Gwaine in love is far worse." The subject of this comment simply grinned.
There was no time for any more chatting: Gaheris' men were riding into the courtyard, dressed in the slate grey of Essetir. Following them was a tall man on horseback, wearing an iron crown: Gaheris.
Merlin considered him as he dismounted and approached. He wasn't as young as Merlin had expected him to be—in his forties, with a stern face and grey eyes. But he smiled as he walked up to Arthur and clasped him by the arm, and his smile was warm, crinkling his eyes. Merlin liked him.
"Arthur Pendragon," he said, nodding to his host.
"Gaheris."
"Thank you for opening your home to me and my men," Gaheris said politely.
"We are honored to have you here. Please, come with me." He led him away at the head of two columns of men, the knights of Camelot and of Essetir.
"What do you think?" Anna whispered, coming up beside Merlin. "Your view was better than mine."
"I think this is going to work," Merlin answered, grinning.
"Once there's peace between Camelot and Essetir, maybe you can visit your mother more often!"
"Maybe. My magic is still a barrier to me spending much time there. People there are already suspicious."
"Merlin!" someone called. "The King requires you!"
"No rest for the weary," Merlin grinned and strode off in his jerky way.
000
The Great Hall was particularly full at the feast a few nights later. Arthur had opened the tournament to all comers from either kingdom, and there were men in a multitude of brightly-colored clothing, representing the noble houses of both lands.
"I still think this is a bad idea," Merlin said as he refilled Leon's cup, his words masked from other ears by the noisy chatter. It was after the meal proper, and people were milling around the room. The dancing would start soon.
"Merlin, I told you before," Leon answered patiently. "There are too many loyal knights here from both kingdoms who don't want any harm to come to either king. The peace is too precious to us all. Arthur is in no danger."
"People have been telling me that repeatedly since I first came to Camelot," Merlin observed. "They're usually wrong."
"He always comes out of everything alright," Leon said. Merlin looked at him skeptically. "Relax, Merlin," Leon added, clapping him on the back. "We won't let anyone get to him."
"What about on the tournament field? He and Gaheris are BOTH mad enough to want to join in the 'festivities'. How can you protect him when he's fighting hand-to-hand combat?"
"There are rules; we will make sure they are followed." Merlin opened his mouth to protest. "Merlin, I believe King Gaheris's cup needs to be refilled," Leon added quickly.
Merlin gave him a darkling look, but walked over to where Gaheris sat between Arthur and Guinevere.
"More wine, Your Majesty?"
"Ah, thank you, Merlin." Gaheris turned back to his conversation with Guinevere. "I hope you are not averse to tournaments, my lady," said. "And if you are, you can squint at the men and pretend they're a flower garden. They're colorful enough."
Guinevere laughed. "Plenty of flowers, but not enough greenery, my lord."
The doors of the hall banged open and a knight strode in. Merlin nearly dropped the flagon of wine.
The man was huge, the size of Percival if not a little larger, and dressed entirely in green: his shirt and trousers were green, his finely-worked leather belt bore green stones, there were green strands braided into his long brown hair, which hung freely over his shoulders. He wore a green mantle lined with white fur, and across his back he carried a huge battle-axe of green steel and beaten gold, its long, thick haft wound with iron and beautifully engraven with green. Around his waist he wore a green sash, intricately embroidered with golden thread in a design of animals, birds and plants of all kinds. The golden spurs on his heels clanged in the silence that had fallen over the hall as he strode forward to the head table where the monarchs sat.
"Your Majesties," he said at last in a deep voice, making a cultured bow. "My name is Bertilak de Hautdesert, and I have come to compete in the tournament."
"Is that enough greenery for you?" Gaheris murmured in Guinevere's ear.
TBC
