Joyous Garde

Chapter One

A/N: Thank you so much for your kind reviews about Broceliande, my first ever fanfic – I was really nervous so I'm very grateful for everyone being gentle, it's really encouraged me! I had actually written this before I posted Broceliande, but wasn't brave enough to put it up (I was sick all Christmas so had nothing to do but lie in bed watching DVDs and discovering the weird and wonderful world of fanfic).

Sequel to Broceliande, set after The Last Dragonlord. Only very mildly spoilery for S2. It also keeps the same backstory for Leon as in Broceliande, because, dammit, I'm not giving up until we have a body.

The BBC owns characters and I make no profit. Cruel world, but c'est la vie. Thank you again for the encouragement.

"This is really serious," said Arthur.

"Yes," agreed Merlin.

"I mean, really serious."

"Yes."

"Aren't you worried?"

"YES. What do you want me to do, cry?"

Arthur looked like he was considering it for a moment, before muttering "I don't think that would help," and going back to staring out his chambers windows. Merlin sat in Arthur's chair, feet on Arthur's table. Normally neither of those things would have been permitted. This wasn't normally. Arthur turned on his heel sharply. "Can't you call the Dragon back?"

Merlin was astonished. "What? Why?!"

"Why? Why? He told you Mordred was going to kill me and you're asking me why we need to call him back?! We need to ask how! Where! When!" Arthur punctuated each statement by thumping on the table violently, making Merlin's sore legs shudder from the vibrations.

Merlin groaned, his head was still aching and his body battered from his experience at Broceliande. He leaned back against the tall back of the chair. "Can you turn it down a notch, Arthur? We aren't calling the Dragon back. He doesn't know where or when, only possibly where and when, and that's all probably changed because I told you, and look, all this Destiny stuff is really vague and..."

"You're telling me!" Arthur was bright red now, working himself into what Merlin's mother would have called a tizzy. "You're telling me it's vague! I've got a Dragon saying a little boy is going to kill me at some point in the future, a sword saying I've got to cast it off eventually, a Lady of the Lake saying that the time is far off, and a servant who's actually a sorcerer who knows all of this because he let the brat go in the first place!"

Ah. Arthur went and sat by the window, staring out, chin in hand. Merlin didn't say anything for a moment. Eventually he swung his legs down with a slight wince, leaned forwards despite the back pain, and said with every ounce of sincerity in his body: "Arthur, I am sorry. I really am." Arthur didn't look around, but stared down into the courtyard, as though he didn't hear him. His silence scared Merlin more than his anger. "Arthur?" Nothing. A small coldness around his heart made Merlin wonder if he had betrayed one trust too many. "Arthur? Are you angry?"

Arthur blinked and turned around. Merlin was struck by the expression of real sadness on his face, one of the few times sadness in Arthur hadn't been masked by something more fiery – anger, or hurt, or grief. "No," he said, more gently than usual, but with his familiar decisive tone. "No, Merlin, I'm not angry. How can I be angry? I would have done the same thing as you. In fact, if I had known I would have done the same as I did. I would, of course, have gathered more firm intelligence first, but I couldn't stand by at the time and let the boy die in the flames and I couldn't have even now. In a fair fight, my men against his, yes. But in that way, then, I couldn't have stood by, even if I knew."

"I know you couldn't." Merlin couldn't keep the pride out of his voice.

Arthur looked at him sharply. "That isn't a good thing, Merlin. You're talking about bringing down Camelot, not to mention me. I should be...stronger."

"Stronger doesn't mean violence always."

"All right, sage," he tossed Merlin's discarded jacket at him. "I just saw Gaius get back from collecting supplies. Get yourself to Gaius and Gwen, would you? You look a complete state, Gaius will beat Mordred to it and kill me himself if sees you looking like that."

"Gwen?" Merlin tried to ask, lightly. He hadn't dared ask about progress on that front.

Arthur didn't meet his eyes, walking over to the table and looking at some documents, but said carelessly, "yes, I got her a job with Gaius, didn't I tell you? She spent the time after Morgana left just sort of helping out here and there. I thought she would make a good physician's assistant, since he last one had been rubbish, not to mention never there, and at that point possibly dead. My father took some persuading, but after all, there are plenty of very capable women working around the castle."

"That was...nice of you," said Merlin, heading to the door, unable to get the grin off his face. "And is Gwen enjoying it?"

Arthur shrugged carelessly, but there was the faintest tinge of pink around his cheekbones. Merlin hovered, hoping for more, until Arthur sat down, looked at some parchments, and said without looking up: "get out before I throw you out."

It was good to be home.

"I only told him about Mordred," said Merlin. He could tell Gaius was cross. He was beginning to wish he hadn't said anything. He'd been quite enjoying the hero's welcome. But the next morning, and all the questions had started. How did Arthur set him free, exactly? Who had taken him? How? "I didn't tell him about the once and future king stuff, or the uniting Albion stuff. In fact, I didn't even tell him about Mordred. Fr –the Lady of the Lake did. And don't you think it's better he knows?"

"Better for you, maybe," admitted Gaius, but that thought was interrupted by the sudden arrival of Arthur. As befitting a prince, he didn't bother to knock, but judging from Gaius' reaction his presence wasn't as completely unusual as it had been before Merlin's capture and before Gwen's tenure as physician's assistant. "Good morning, sire. How are your wounds?"

"No wounds, Gaius," said Arthur, energetically. He prowled up and down the jars on the shelves, reading each label with unlikely interest. Gaius, who hadn't been told about the scabbard, eyed Merlin suspiciously. "How're you Merlin?"

"Less sore. How're you?"

"Less alarmed." He turned to Merlin and clapped his hands together. "I have good news. Well, terrible news, but good news for us."

"Oh?"

"The Saxons are attacking Northumbria again."

"Again?" exclaimed Gaius. "They only just left! That's dreadful! What else is there to take?"

"Yes, again. Yes, awful. But we're going to help."

"We are?" asked Merlin.

"We are."

"We're going to go and fight the Saxons," repeated Merlin, trying the phrase out for size. "What, alone?"

Arthur, who had temporarily been completely distracted by Gwen's entrance, said "Yes. What? No! Don't be stupid. Hello, Gwen. How are you this morning?"

Gwen smiled at him beatifically and said coyly "very well, thank you, Arthur. All the better for having Merlin home again."

"I do my best," grinned Arthur.

At this point Merlin dragged himself to his feet and positioned himself in front of Gwen so Arthur was looking at him by default. "Excuse me," he said, "not wishing to interrupt, but I think you did just say we were going to fight the Saxons, so it's not a stupid question."

Snapping out of it, Arthur took his elbow and led him back to the chair. "You should sit down, you need your rest. Yes, we are going to fight the Saxons, but when I say 'we' I don't mean just 'you and I', I mean 'we' as in the knights of Camelot."

"I'm not a knight of Camelot," growled Merlin, as Arthur's eyes had wandered back to where Gwen was not-at-all self-consciously arranging roses. "Oh for the love of..."

"I never said you were a knight of Camelot," said Arthur, vaguely.

"Arthur, do you mind looking at me for a moment? Just one second. Please? Hi. You said this was good news for us. Fighting Saxons isn't good news. That's bad news."

Gwen stopped humming and began listening to the conversation rather than concentrating on what she was doing when Arthur was looking at her. "You're going to fight the Saxons?" she repeated, looking alarmed.

"Yes," Arthur smiled idiotically at her. "But it is good news – " he pointed at Merlin – "you are absolutely right, because we know where Mordred is."

"The druid boy?!" exclaimed Gwen, completely baffled now.

"How?" demanded Merlin.

"Not just a pretty face, my friend. Well, actually it wasn't me, if I'm being honest. Leon has contacts in Northumbria. We've known for a long time that there was a bunch of renegade druids holed up in a ruined castle in Northumbria, around Dunbar, and last night I was going over all our reports and lo and behold, they mentioned a creepy child with blue eyes going by the name Merdraut. I think that's probably just their accents getting it wrong. Or maybe we got it wrong. But a creepy child with blue eyes with a name like that has to be our man."

"So we're not going to fight the Saxons."

"Well, we might have to. My father's getting hot under the collar, because this is about the fifth time in a year the Saxons have landed – three times in Northumbria and once in Gododdin – so he wants me to go and offer Camelot's help. So, yes, potentially, we are going to fight the Saxons. They'll probably be gone by then, it'll be more consolation and diplomatic stuff. But mostly we are going to find Mordred." He slapped Merlin's shoulder and went to leave. As he did so, he took a rose stem subtly offered by Gwen, brushing her hand. "I'll see you soon," he said, so quietly only she could hear.

"Get ready, Merlin," he said, leaving.

"Now?!"

Arthur turned back at the door, playing with the rose between his fingers. "Yes, now. The Saxons aren't going to wait for you! Good grief!"

He left, Merlin groaned and Gwen looked down at the rose, a shadow across her face.

Arthur walked across the courtyard in the summer sun, humming to himself. The scent from the rose in his hand seemed strong as any perfume, and intoxicated him with a joy in everything he saw, from the towering castle to the lowliest carter.

The good mood evaporated with a suddenness which was upsetting. Standing at the main gate, talking to a guard, was Lancelot. Their eyes met. The hum died on Arthur's lips and he realised he had torn the rose's petals. He let it drop, wiped his fingers on his tunic, and walked over the guard.

"This man says he has business with you, Sire," said the guard.

"Thank you – yes, that's fine," Arthur eventually met Lancelot's gaze fully. "Lancelot. How are you?"

"I'm well, thank you, Sire," Lancelot answered, as usual his tone overflowing with warmth and eagerness, something Arthur had once found utterly charming and now found utterly threatening. But that wasn't Lancelot's fault, he reminded himself.

"You didn't say goodbye last time," said Arthur, immediately kicking himself. Why bring up last time? Lancelot was obviously wondering the same thing, and had the good grace not to answer, but instead look faintly embarrassed on Arthur's behalf. "So what brings you back?" Arthur used everything he possessed to try and bring lightness and banter to the conversation.

Lancelot looked on safer ground here and, as always, enthusiastic. "Sire, there are Saxons in the north."

"Yeah, I know," Arthur was looking back from where he had just come. Did that window look over this part of the courtyard? He finally turned back. "You're not actually from Northumbria, are you?"

"No. But I hear you're riding to war."

Arthur blinked, and screwed up his nose. "How could you possibly know..."

"I've ridden from Bayard's court. He's as worried as Uther. He's planning on helping, too. He asked me to ride with them. But I...I wanted to ride with you," he stared at Arthur, wide brown eyes imploring. Arthur had seen less irresistible eyes on puppies. 'Did you, though?' he wondered. 'Or did you want to see Gwen?'

The thought was beneath him. "Lancelot, you know the tricky situation here with the knighthood and everything..."

"Yes, Sire," Lancelot looked dejected. "I just had hoped..."

"All right, look," interrupted Arthur. "Officially, I guess you're still a knight. Well, I'm not sure that's true, actually, because didn't my father strip you of your knighthood? Oh, whatever. Look, you've saved me, and Camelot and...some of Camelot's citizens, and as far as I'm concerned, that's good enough for me," he was talking almost at random now. "Just wait outside the castle walls. We ride at dusk. Join in. You're Sir Lancelot. If anyone asks...if anyone asks, just think of something. Okay?"

Lancelot's smile was so wide and pure and innocently joyful that Arthur felt craven and bitter for the unjust dislike, bordering on hatred, he felt for him, all based on an unworthy jealousy. "Thank you, Sire. Thank you."

He made to leave. Arthur watched him for all of ten seconds, and then knew he couldn't bear it. He couldn't bear the jealousy he would experience, or the torment, if he did it, but he couldn't bear the guilt and shame if he didn't. "Lancelot," he reached out and stopped him, and the words came out so quickly, as though he hoped by not really thinking about them they wouldn't be made vocal. "Lancelot, forget it. Go and see Gaius. Stay in Gaius' rooms. At dusk join us outside. Okay?"

He walked away ignoring Lancelot's thanks, and made it to his room before the unfamiliar sensation of bitterest tears stung his eyes. He blinked them away hard, and tried to concentrate on Saxons and druids, and not on whatever was being said in Gaius' rooms.