Em rose before Gaius and Lancelot. He crept out at dawn to walk the dogs and spar with Holt. As it turned out, the boy's master, Bennet, was gone as well. The mysterious mission that Arthur had been called out on required the majority of the kennel's hounds. Only the pups, pregnant females, and old dogs stayed behind.

And Pike and Trout, of course.

The dogs romped in the servants' courtyard while Holt and Em exchanged blows. After several rounds with the staff, Em showed Holt how to do a push-up. For being so scrawny, the younger boy managed to do thirty.

After their workout, Em invited Holt over for breakfast at Gaius's. He often worried about the boy, with his raggedy clothes and skinny frame. Em knew that Holt was one of five children and the son of a widowed mother. Growing up in a poor family of ten, Em knew better than most about the perils of hunger and poverty. Em figured he was still underweight. He could tell from the way Gaius shoveled extra food on his plate and Arthur's taunts about his scrawny frame. Guilt often weighed in Em's stomach when he ate his large portions. His own family and thousands of other Druids starved in camps throughout Albion. Why should he get to eat good food?

Holt distracted Em from his dark thoughts with his theories about what Arthur, Bennet, and the other knights were up to. His theories ranged from rogue sorcerers to a group of cannibalistic cultists. When Em asked him if he knew what cannibalistic meant, Holt said it meant people who stole livestock and drank their blood. The look of horror on Holt's face when Em informed him of the proper definition made the older boy roar with laughter.

They arrived to Gaius's chambers with the pack of four dogs in tow. Em was pleased to find Lancelot sitting at the table, his cheeks flushed with a healthy vigor. Gaius was laying out bowls of porridge and a loaf of fresh bread. Em tried to ignore how Holt stiffened at the sight of the food.

"Uncle, Lancelot, this is my friend Holt, the junior houndsman. Holt, this is my Uncle Gaius and our guest Lancelot. He is an aspiring Knight of Camelot."

"Y-you'll be a nobleman, then, milord, since only nobles go for knighthood?" Holt stammered out.

Em's eyes darted to Lancelot. The man's clothes were homespun and he seemed too thin. Surely he would have introduced himself as a lord of some sort, right? All the stuck-up nobles he had met specifically made sure to do so.

Lancelot seemed resigned. "Officially, I am Lord Galahad Ban Lancelot du Lac, Marquis of Benoic."

"Marquis?" Em squeaked. A marquis was the fourth highest level of peerage, ranked just below that of a duke.

"Who is your father, my lad?" Gaius asks.

"Augustus Ban du Lac, Duke of Benoic. The third son of King Ban the Blessed."

"King Ban the Blessed of Benoic happens to be a cousin of Queen Ygraine's mother," Gaius told Em.

"How do you know that?" Em asked. "Why do you know that?"

Gaius's eyes twinkled. "You were the one who was reading the genealogy book of Camelot's nobility for fun. That was just a few weeks ago, nephew."

"Do you know that my father was cast aside the king and sent to live with a distant cousin at his barony in Albion?" Lancelot inquired.

"No. The lands of Albion and Gaul rarely interact these days," Gaius said with a frown. "Whatever for?"

"My eldest uncle, Crown Prince Ban the Younger, is unfit to inherit the throne. My father told my grandfather so in front of the whole court. My uncle turned my grandfather against my father, and thus my father was exiled to Albion. He married a servant of his Mercian's cousin and together they had me."

"How do you claim the style of marquis, as the son of an exiled prince?" Gaius asked.

"My father was never stripped of his title, only exiled."

"Why strive for knighthood, then?" Em asked.

"A title is just a piece of paper, Merlin. A title alone does not bring any income to my family," Lancelot said.

"Plenty of nobles are rich in family history but poor in cash, Bennet always says," Holt said.

Lancelot grinned at Holt. "Whoever this Bennet is, he is right. I am in a rather desperate situation."

"Well, milord, the Knights of Camelot get paid real good," Holt said.

"Well, you're a good swordsman and a distant relation of Arthur's. I am sure the Crown Prince will let you join the Knights," Em said.

"What are your parents doing now, Lancelot?" Gaius asked.

"They were slain by bandits when I was twelve. I barely escaped with my life," Lancelot said. "All my life, I have dreamed of coming here. I trained with swordsmen from all over Albion, preparing for a distant and seemingly unattainable future. And now it is here."

"Arthur returns at nightfall," Em said.

All day, Lancelot entertained Em and Holt with stories of faraway lands and distant battles. The young man accompanied the two servant boys as they went about their duties. He was an immense help. His callused hands and quick way of getting chores done suggested that he was used to hard, menial labor.

That night at dinner, which Em invited Holt to, Em and Lancelot reenacted the battle with the strange beast in the forest with brooms. Em had reported its presence the guards at the front gate when he brought Lancelot to the city for healing. They laughed at him when he described the beast, but swore they would report it to their supervisors once Em told them who he worked for. He hoped they took it seriously.

Since they were the guests, Lancelot and Holt insisted on washing the dishes. As they worked and Gaius warmed himself by the fire, Em sang a series of bawdy drinking songs—in Common, of course—his uncle Iseldir taught him when he was seven. The dogs watched with rapt fascination.

They heard a single, authoritative knock on the door. Em stopped singing and opened the door. His ears turned red when he saw Arthur standing outside.

"Sire?" he asked.

"This past night and day, I've been hunting a strange beast seen in the south, near the Valley of the Fallen Kings. Imagine my surprise when I return home and find out from my guards that my bumbling idiot of a manservant managed to bump right into it when looking for bloody herbs!" Arthur ranted.

"You're welcome," Em muttered. "And I'm doing just fine after my encounter with a giant bird of death! No big deal. Thanks for asking. I'm touched."

Arthur ignored him. "I've come to ask you for details about the beast."

"Looked like a giant murder bird with four legs."

"Be serious."

"I am being serious!"

"Merlin, I was on horseback for thirteen hours today, do not test me-"

"Picture a beast with the body of a lion and the wings and head of an eagle, my lord," Lancelot said softly.

"Who are you?" Arthur asked, clearly annoyed that he had been interrupted.

"Lancelot, sire." Em frowned when that was all his friend said. Lancelot seemed to shrink under Arthur's sharp gaze.

"Are you a servant?"

"No, sire. A traveler from Mercia."

Em shot Lancelot a confused look. The older man avoided his gaze. Holt watched Lancelot with narrow eyes.

"Well," Arthur said, oblivious as ever. "It's a miracle the two of you survived the attack, especially since most peasants rarely wield a sword."

"I earn my coin by escorting caravans through the forest, milord. The job requires a certain level of competency. I do find that I have a more natural affinity to a bow and arrow, though."

"So you are well-spoken and trained in weapons," Arthur said. "Should you ever find yourself weary of guarding caravans, put in an application with the castle guard. They always could use men like you."

Lancelot bowed, the very picture of courtly elegance. "Much obliged, milord."

Arthur shot a look at Em. "Merlin, how did a benighted, inerudite creature such as yourself manage to acquire such a genteel and articulate companion?" he asked.

"I know what all of those words mean," Em snapped. "I can read, you know."

"I'm glad you have the bare minimum of education," Arthur said loftily.

Em saw Holt redden out of the corner of his eye. The boy had probably never even held a book in his life. "Most other peasants don't know how. It's not the bare minimum, it's a privilege that very few have access to. Besides, we are educated in other things—farming, herb-craft, woodcarving." His voice rose, and he could not hide the anger on his face. If only Arthur knew the power that thrummed through his veins, knew about his extensive training in healing and fighting magic, his ability to command dragons and communicate with them. Maybe then, the prince would think to hold his tongue.

Arthur's expression darkened. "I have other duties to attend to. I expect a hot dinner waiting in my chambers in exactly an hour, and my manservant there to serve it." He nodded to Lancelot, Gaius, and Holt. "Good evening, men."

"Good evening, sire," they all said with a bow.

Arthur turned on his heel and left. Gaius waited until the sound of his footsteps faded to cuff Em over the side of his head.

"You can't blatantly disrespect your master in such a way, you dolt!" Gaius growled. "Especially when your master is a prince."

"He was being obnoxious," Em argued. "He knows you were a farmer before you joined the royal household, and he knows that Holt and I are servants. It's infuriating. How does he expect to earn the love of his people if he speaks to them in such a condescending manner?"

"That is not your place to comment on," Gaius said. His face softened, though.

"It what we were thinking, though," Holt murmured.

Lancelot exhaled heavily. "That was pretty... obnoxious. I've heard nobles can be insufferable, but I didn't realize they could be that bad."

The other three looked at him in confusion.

"Lancelot... you are a nobleman." Em tilted his head. "Why didn't you tell Arthur about your kinship?"

"I am the bastard son of a king's bastard son. I am as common as you are," Lancelot said. "I thought I could muster the courage to say that to the prince, but alas, I could not. Especially after seeing that."

"Duke Augustus Ban du Lac was a bastard, then?" Gaius asked.

Lancelot nodded. "And my mother was a servant he bedded and later married. The rest of what I told you was true. My father was given a small duchy to rule over, even if Ban never formally recognized him as his son. He was exiled for challenging my grandfather's decisions."

"You're still the grandson of a king. And your father was an acknowledged bastard! That counts for something," Em insisted.

"Not in Camelot." Lancelot smiled sadly.

"It's stupid! Where I'm from, no woman is judged for having a child and not naming the father," Em said, thinking of his aunt Maud and Cerdan, or even Adelina and Astryd.

"I wish to be from such a place," Lancelot said. "Folk sound kinder there."

Em heaved a sigh. "You have no idea. I miss it every day."

Em shuffled into Arthur's chambers, carrying the prince's heavy tray. He set down the tray in front of the prince, who sat at his table. The prince did not even thank him. Stiff with anger, Em stepped away from the table and went to pick up a heap of sweaty clothes that Arthur had thrown on the floor. They reeked of horse, smoke, and sweat. He wrinkled his nose.

The prince finally shoved his plate away from him. He stood and turned to face Em.

"Merlin," Arthur said.

Em kept his eyes on the floor.

"Look at me when I speak to you!" Arthur snapped.

Em looked at his prince and recoiled from the anger he saw in Arthur's gaze.

"You crossed a line in your uncle's chambers," Arthur said. "Most masters would thrash a servant for speaking to them in such a manner. Speaking to a prince in that way could be a flogging offense."

Em's eyes filled with hot, angry tears. He thought of a dark cave and a leather strap dripping with blood. He pictured the jagged scars on his back.

"Do it, then," he said.

Arthur gaped at him. "Merlin, I'd—" He schooled his expression. "You need to be respectful. What if the kennel boy or that Mercian fellow gossip about the prince's refractory servant? If my father caught word of such behavior, you'd be dog's meat."

"Holt and Lancelot are true friends, sire," Em said. "They respect me."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're always calling me stupid and saying that I can't read or handle a sword properly. It's—it's rude, sire!" Em burst out.

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "Your feelings are hurt, then?"

"I'm well-read, sire, and educated in herb-craft and weaponry." Em drew himself up to his full height.

"You want to impress that Mercian fellow, don't you? Make it seem like you're a real man, yeah?"

"I am a man, sire," Em snarled, trying to hide a grin.

"Aye, Merlin, with your fair lady's skin and those gangly limbs? You need to grow into those big ears a bit more, I'd say," Arthur said.

An unwilling smile crept onto Em's face.

"I've said no worse than what I did in Gaius's chambers. What ruffled your feathers back there?"

Em remembered to feel angry again. "My friend—Beckett's boy Holt. He's unlettered and finds it shameful. Makes him feel stupid, even though he's a bright lad. I've been teaching him to spar and he's taken to it like a duck in the water. He's a fair hand with the dogs, too, sire, and quick to pick up anything Beckett teaches him—"

"Are you saying I hurt the dog boy's feelings?"

Em grit his teeth. "His name's Holt, sire, and there's a lot resting on his shoulders. He supports his mother and four younger sisters. You don't have to belittle him or make him feel stupid."

"I never meant to belittle the boy."

"Just read the room, sire. The peasants and the servants, they are also your subjects. Treat them kindly."

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "I meant to lecture you on respecting me, you know."

Em thought he already knew the answer, but he had to ask. "And thrash me, sire?"

"No," Arthur said immediately. "I wouldn't."

"Why?" Em should have just left it, but the sound of leather snapping against his skin echoed in his mind.

"You—someone hurt you, Merlin, and it clearly still affects you. Whoever did it was a coward, and I'd have words with him if I knew his name."

Em clasped his hands behind his back before Arthur noticed how they trembled.

"And I think it's wrong. A servant should respect his master, yes, but he shouldn't cower like a beaten dog before him. The loyalest dogs are the ones that are treated kindly."

"You'd compare me to a dog, sire?"

"I wouldn't want to insult any dogs, Merlin," Arthur said.

Em grinned widely.

Lancelot joined Holt, Em, and the dogs for their morning walk. They strode through the palace grounds, giving the newcomer the servants' version of a castle tour. Lancelot listened with rapt attention.

"What are you gonna do about becoming a knight?" Em asked.

"I thought I might join the castle guard," Lancelot said unhappily.

"Your talent would be wasted in the castle guard," Holt scoffed. "The Knights of Camelot are the best of the best. You belong there."

"A man must start somewhere," Lancelot said. "You hope to be the royal houndsman one day, don't you?"

Holt nodded.

"First, you must assist Beckett and learn all you can from him. You may have to perform tasks you find unpleasant and do the scut work in the kennels. Eventually, though, you will have learned all you can and succeed Beckett when he retires."

"You already worked as a caravan guard, though, and you're the grandson of a king!"

"I'm a bastard, Holt, and I need to be humble. Being related to King Ban should not guarantee me a spot as a knight. I should earn it on my own merit."

"You sound more honorable than most of the knights we know," Em said.

"You give me too much credit." Lancelot looked away, but his eyes glowed at the younger boy's praise.

"The knights should see Lancelot train," Holt said. "They can see how good he is, then."

"Would that work?" Lancelot glanced at Em.

"Arthur spars with them from ten to noon. I usually just hang out and watch. You can come by with a message from Gaius, and I'll challenge you to a sparring session."

Holt clasped his hands together. "We're brilliant!" He crowed. "If only I could be there to watch."

"When we tell you about it, it'll be like you were standing right there with us," Lancelot promised.

A/N: Hello! I am SO sorry it has been eight months since I updated this story. I hit a rut with it, and I decided to focus on other ideas that I had. I wrote a 30k+ Spider-Man story that is still a WOP and ventured into other fandoms I'm interested in dabbling in one day. I started university, read some great books, and grew as a person. Even though I have no spent a lot of time working on this story, I would like to think I spent my time away from it well. I have missed these characters a lot and can't wait to get reacquainted with them. For anyone who's still along for the ride, thank you from the bottom of my heart!