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Chapter Text

Everything was dark and quiet as the king’s eyes slowly blinked awake. Mildewy air filled his lungs as he took his first wheezing breath in millennia. He moved his hands from across his chest and felt around the small stone box. They brushed against a heavy stone laid above him and kept him entombed. He shook the tired from his bones and pressed his palms against the coarse rock. The lid slid off and clattered against the ground, and faint blue light beamed into the room surrounding him. Daylight.

Arthur sat up and took deep breaths of air as he tried to fill his empty lungs. Where was he? Had he died? Was this heaven?

He looked around the room with wide eyes. It was a dusty, decrepit old castle, only faintly familiar to him. Cobwebs gathered in the corners, grime stained the window panes, and dust coated every flat surface. If this was heaven, God needed to get his act together…

He looked down at where he was sitting and saw the stone tomb he had been resting in. Startled, Arthur jumped out of the coffin and onto the stone floor, backing away from it before he felt an aching pain in his abdomen. He winced and clasped his hand over his side to try and stay upright.

“Took you long enough,” Arthur heard someone speak from behind him. He turned around, still panting, and saw the aged face of the Lady of the Lake. She stood in the doorway with her long, white hair trailing behind her. She looked older… Not so old to be at the end of life, but definitely older. More wrinkled.

“Nimue…?” Arthur uttered as he squinted at her, trying to morph her face into something familiar.

“Oh, you remember?” she mused with a look of mild surprise, “I thought I would’ve had to teach you all over again.”

“Where… Where am I..?” Arthur asked as he looked back at the old, crumbling castle.

“This is Avalon,” Nimue answered as she walked to stand beside the King, “Or what’s left of it… Castles are surprisingly difficult to maintain by yourself.”

“Avalon…” Arthur echoed, his voice barely a whisper. His eyes widened in shock as the memories started flooding back to him—Lancelot and Guinevere, his dream of Gawain, Mordred, the battle of Camlann, Bedivere-

Oh, God. He had died. The aching pain in his side suddenly made much more sense… the entry point of Mordred’s spear, the blow that ended him…

Arthur’s mind began to reel as visions of his death echoed in his mind. What had happened to everyone else? He turned to Nimue, his mouth floundering aimlessly as he tried to ask her the questions that circled his brain.

“Dead,” the Lady answered, “Just as you are. Or, were.”

Arthur felt the dewy air tighten in his throat as the Lady spoke. The great crumbling walls began to close in on him, drowning out whatever she was saying. “Where—Where is Guinevere..?” he managed to choke out.

“She’s here,” Nimue walked past Arthur and to the large coffin he had been resting in.

Beside it was a second tomb with the sculpture of a woman at rest. As Arthur’s eyes landed on her face he knew in an instant who she was. “Oh, God…” he whispered as he walked over to the casket. The air he had managed to gather was knocked out of his lungs. “What… What became of her, after I..?”

“She spent the rest of her days at a convent, helping the poor and sick. She felt such guilt at her betrayal, she vowed never to see Lancelot again…” the ancient wisdom returned to Nimue’s voice as she looked at the sculpture, and her eyes softened with sorrow. “She kept that vow until the very end…”

Tears began to form in the King’s eyes as he listened to the Lady speak. The overwhelming fear and dread he had initially felt had been replaced by sorrow. The statue looked as gorgeous as she had in life. The stone hair spiraled out around her like a halo, and in her hands she held a bouquet of flowers. Her face looked soft and smooth, and despite the time’s attempts to weather and destroy the stone sculpture, she was still just as beautiful as he remembered her to be.

Arthur began to weep as he looked down at the effigy of his wife. He placed his hand on the carving’s cheek and brushed it with his thumb, trying to recreate the feeling of the warmth that had radiated from her face in life. But he was met only with the chill of ancient stone.

“I’m sorry…” He leaned down and pressed his forehead against the statue’s, letting his tears fall onto her face. “You are forgiven, Guinevere…”

He pressed a short, soft kiss against the effigy’s lips as a last goodbye to the woman he once loved, and a desperate attempt at feeling her familiar warmth once more. He stayed there for a moment, his body draped over the statue as he continued to silently weep. He wasn’t sure how long it had been when he felt a gentle nudge from the effigy. He looked up, confused, before a much harder push caused the stone lid of the tomb to jump a bit. Arthur stepped back as he watched the lid of the coffin continue to shake. He glanced over at Nimue, who seemed equally as confused as him.

Arthur looked back at the coffin as it continued to jump slightly and shift. His eyes then turned to the lid of his own coffin that was now lying against the floor. His eyes widened as he began to put everything together, and he raced back over to the tomb and pushed the stone lid off, causing dust to kick up into the air as the effigy fell to the ground with a heavy thud.

Arthur coughed a bit as he batted the dust away, before looking back at the coffin. Guinevere, his wife, his beloved, sat up from it, coughing as she too waved the dust away. Age had not touched her. Her long, golden hair seemed to float behind her, and her dark skin glowed in the dim daylight. She looked as youthful and radiant as ever, though to Arthur it wouldn’t matter if she had become a decrepit old crone. This was his wife. His Queen. She had been returned to him from death, and that alone made him the happiest man alive.

Guinevere blinked ever so slowly, her golden eyes opening after a thousand years of rest. She glanced around the room, the same look of confusion in her eyes that Arthur had when he awoke. She looked at the grimy windows, the crumbling columns along the walls, the dust-covered floors, and finally, to her husband.

Her eyes grew wide as she looked at him. He looked… different than she remembered. Perhaps her mind had grown foggy in old age, but he seemed… younger, almost. Instead of the aged, wrinkled cowl of a king, he had a smooth complexion, apart from the small creases under and by the inner corners of his eyes. Guinevere had always liked those…

“Arthur..?” she muttered, her voice hushed from lack of use. The King couldn’t help himself—he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to him, feeling her warmth in his arms once more. Guinevere threw aside her shock and returned the embrace, wrapping her arms around her husband’s shoulders as he buried his face into the crook of her neck.

“This… this should not be,” Nimue muttered as she looked at the two, “Only Arthur is prophesied to return… He is the Once and Future King, not-”

Nimue stopped as her eyes widened. Arthur looked back at the Lady as he left the embrace, his hand still resting on the small of his wife’s back. “What is it, Nimue..?”

“If Guinevere returned with you, then…”

Arthur paused for a moment as he began to understand what the Lady was trying to tell him. “Oh, God,” he whispered, his eyes wide with shock and fear. “The others.”

Chapter Text

The heavy rock landed with a thud against the stone floor. “God damn it,” Sir Gawain huffed as he rubbed his head. There was an aching pain in his skull, as if someone had stabbed him straight through it. He looked around the dim chamber, trying to recall how exactly he got there. He looked at what he had been lying in, and as he nursed his aching head, he came to remember. 

“Oh, shit…” he muttered as he looked at the stone coffin. Made sense, though. He very clearly remembered dying. It would also explain the splitting headache he had—The place where Lancelot had given him his killing blow. All of that made sense. What didn’t make sense, however, was that he was alive again. And what also didn’t make sense were the empty coffins next to his own…

Gawain stepped out of the coffin and landed on the ground, his plate armor clanking slightly as he moved. Well, at least they were polite enough to bury me in my armor, he thought to himself. 

He looked around for a moment, first noticing the red roping surrounding his coffin, then saw his sword, Galantine, encased in glass. Without a second thought, he opened the case and took the blade from it. He went to grab his scabbard, only to grab air instead. He looked down at the missing sheath and sighed, before tucking the blade into his belt.

As he adjusted his belt for the sword, he heard the sound of arguing echoing down the corridor. He stepped over the thick red rope around his coffin, and began to creep ever closer to the noise, staying close to the stone wall of the hallway.

At the end of the hallway, he saw five figures. Three of the men stood in plate armor similar to Gawain’s, while two others wear peculiar black tunics and chauses, though Gawain hesitated to call them that.

“For the last time,” one of the strangely-dressed men yelled, “Why are you back here?”

“We don’t know, you oaf!” 

Gawain recognized the voice of the knight. He froze in his tracks, his eyes wide with shock. He listened to the familiar voice as it continued to bicker and argue with the other man before he finally managed to speak.

“Gaheris..?” he muttered, breathless from shock. The three armored men turned to face him, and there they stood. Agravaine, Gaheris, and Gareth. Gawain nearly cried at the sight of his younger brothers. 

“Gawain?” Gareth, the youngest of them, said, just as shocked as Gawain was. Gaheris shoved past his two brothers and ran to Gawain, hugging him as tight as he could. Gareth and Agravaine soon followed, almost knocking Gawain off his feet from the impacts of the hugs.

“God’s bones, Gawain—You scared the lives out of us!” Agravaine exclaimed, “We thought you had stayed dead after we all woke up and you didn’t!”

“You’re alive…” Gawain whispered. He stood for a moment in complete shock, before smiling and wrapping his arms around his baby brothers. He thought he’d never see them again, not since Lancelot had killed them… Memories of that day still make him shutter.

Despite the happy reunion, Gawain knew he had a duty to uphold. He pulled away from his brothers, and his gaze turned to the two strangely dressed men. “You,” he growled, his green eyes narrowing in on one of the men as he marched towards them, “Where is Arthur?”

The two strangers exchanged glances before the man chuckled, seemingly stunned at the question. “Okay, gentlemen, the joke’s over,” he laughed.

“You think I jest?” he hissed, pulling the blade from his belt. The two men jumped back a bit at the sight of it, raising their hands.

“Christ—Let’s… take it easy, sir,” the man said, eyeing the blade, “We don’t need anyone to get hurt…”

“This guy is mad,” the other oddly dressed man whispered to his friend. Gawain raised galantine at him, his eyes sharpening.

“I shall ask again. Where is Arthur?”

The two men looked back and forth, puzzled.

“…The king?” Gawain repeated, “King Arthur of Camelot? Son of Uther Pendragon? King of all England?”

The two men gave him blank stares.

Gawain sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright, then. Where are we?”

“D-Dover Castle…” one of the men stammered.

“Thank you,” he sighed as he sheathed his sword, “I swear, some peasants know nothing.”  He pushed past the two men, “Come on, brothers—We’ll do this ourselves.”

Gawain’s younger brothers follow him out of the large castle. “Gawain, do you know what happened?” Gareth asked, matching his brother’s pace to walk next to him.

“We died,” Gawain replied, deadfaced, “Lancelot killed all of you, and then myself much later.”

“Why did he kill you?” Gaheris asked as he followed behind.

“Because I went to avenge your deaths…”

“Wait, Gawain,” Agravaine started to ask, “Where’s Mordred?”

Gawain stopped walking. Mordred . The traitorous bastard—literal bastard! In the thrill of reuniting with his brothers he’d forgotten all about the coup he staged that ended the Round Table. He was one of the reasons his brothers had been killed in the first place, that damn traitor!

And yet, despite his treasonous ways, he was still his brother. Mordred had been raised alongside them. Agravaine and Mordred were close friends—best friends, even. He didn’t know how to tell them about what had happened.

“I… am unsure,” Gawain responded, half-lying and half-telling the truth, “I died before he did…”

“Do you know what happened to him?” Agravaine asked. Gawain’s heart panged at the worry in his little brother’s voice.

“N-No…” he said, once again half-lying, “Last I heard of him, he was still at Camelot…”

“Maybe… We’ll find him there, then?” Agravaine asked once more as a shred of hope crossed his face.

“Maybe…” Gawain’s voice was shaky and unsure, “But… But we should find Arthur first.”

His brothers muttered in solace with him, before Gawain kept walking to the exit of the large castle. They saw more people dressed in strange clothing as they went. The people oohed and ahed at them as they passed, and flashed them with strange lights. Gawain had to stop himself from asking what these lights did and pushed on toward the exit.

Gawain and his brothers walked through the large doors of the castle, and the four men were shocked by what they saw. Pathways made of stone spiraled around the fortress, and strange wagons made of steel sat on the rock. They were painted in bright colors, and the wheels were made of a tough black material none of them could name. The windows of these wagons were made of glass, and they fully encased the interior.

“Quite some carriages…” Gareth said as he marveled at them.

“Where’re their horses?” Gawain asked as he looked around.

“Must’ve gotten loose…” Gaheris guessed as he too turned to look for the horses.

Suddenly, one of the strange wagons roared at them, causing the men to jump in startle. Torches at the front of it lit up like eyes that stared at the path in front of it.

“Good God, it’s alive!” Agravaine yelled. The wagon began to roll forward all on its own and moved to the rock path.

“It walks…” Gareth whispered, amazed at the beast. The four men watched as it rolled away, vanishing into the distance.

“Is this what has become of horses?” Gawain asked, an eyebrow raised at the ridiculous contraptions. The brothers marveled at the wagon-horse-beast-things for a moment, before Gawain pushed them along and down the stone road. But even after the contraptions were far behind them, Gawain couldn’t help but wonder what other oddities lay ahead…

Chapter Text

All was quiet in the forest. Birds sang from trees, crickets chirped in the underbrush, and wind whistled through the overgrown grass of the ruins. 

Joyous Gard had laid dormant for centuries, visited only by travelers who had come to see the crumbling castle’s walls, or in hopes of finding proof of an ancient knight of yore…

And that very knight stood in the underbelly of the fallen fortress, searching for something nearly as old as the castle itself.

“Come on… I know you’re here somewhere,” Lancelot murmured through his teeth as he dug through the old rubble. The initial shock of his castle being destroyed had long passed, and was replaced with a sense of urgency. If he returned, perhaps the others were out there somewhere… He prayed they had forgiven him for his ways, but just in case they hadn’t, he needed protection against them, and against this strange new world he now found himself in.

Lancelot dug through the wreckage of the castle aimlessly, before sighing. “Gone,” he muttered, giving up hope of finding Sir Balin’s sword. “I suppose it’s for the better,” he said to no one in particular, “That sword caused nothing but trouble…”

Lancelot was lucky they had even buried him with his armor on. Sure, it went against his death wishes, but now he was grateful for it. Had it not ‘reawakened’ with him, it would’ve been a pile of rust-covered steel by now.

Lancelot stood up straight and banged his head against the sinking ceiling of the fortress. He stood still and exhaled through his nose, pursing his lips as he tried to keep his temper. He rubbed his head with his hand, before walking out of the basement.

He looked out at the wilderness, squinting as he reentered the sunlight. There weren’t many people nearby. Maybe I could just try to blend in, he thought to himself. The last thing he wanted was to cause any sort of distress. He began to walk through the field, heading toward the pathway he had seen when he first emerged. He hadn’t ventured that far away from the castle, but he still knew the old layout. This was his castle, after all. He kept his head down and carried his helmet under his arm, but the sound of his armor clattering against itself as he walked wasn’t helping him go unnoticed. He hadn’t gotten very far when he heard a woman’s voice from nearby.

“Oh, I love your costume!” she exclaimed. Lancelot was… unfamiliar with the type of French she was speaking, but with some effort, he managed to translate the new dialect. He looked over and saw her with a group made up of both men and women, who all dressed strangely. The woman wore a short pink tunic with strings instead of sleeves, and instead of a dress, she wore short white breeches. Her friends wore similar attire, though the menfolk had short sleeves, not strings.

“I… Thank you, my lady,” Lancelot replied with a slight bow, which made some of the group giggle.

“Are you dressed up as Sir Lancelot? I’ve seen people doing photoshoots here before,” a man asked.

“Uh… Well, I am Sir Lancelot,” Lancelot replied. The group laughed at the response.

“Do you mind if we take a picture?” the first woman asked, pulling out a small black slab from her pocket.

“Uh…” was all Lancelot could say before the woman and her friends walked over and stood beside him. The women held the slab—which Lancelot could now see was a small mirror—up in the air, getting the entire group’s reflections in view. Lancelot stood there, unsure of what to do. He watched the reflections of the other people and copied what they did. He smiled and wondered how long he’d have to pose in this mirror... The woman tapped her thumb against the slab, and for a moment the mirror went black, and then their reflections froze. The group moved away from him, and yet their reflection remained perfectly in place.

“What witchcraft..?” he whispered to himself as he squinted at the screen with a furrowed brow. The woman smiled down at the slab, before thanking him and walking away with her group. Lancelot watched them as they went, puzzled, before continuing on his way.

As he walked down the strange black pathway, he couldn’t help but think of the encounter. The strange mirror the woman had that had seemed to freeze their reflections in place… Surely it was witchcraft. What if it had frozen a piece of his soul, with it? Oh, Christ—He goes through all this trouble to starve himself to death to show repentance, and then his soul gets stolen by a witch the day he returns? He must have the worst luck in all of Britannia…

Even past that, these people knew him by name. Had they truly known who he was? The woman had said it was a costume and laughed when he told them his true identity. Perhaps they believed he was pretending to be himself. But, if they knew who Sir Lancelot was, how could they not have recognized the real one?

Lancelot shook his head and tried to forget any worries brought by this strange encounter. He was back. He was alive. He was young and spry again. He didn’t know how, but that is what he knew for certain. Now, he needed to return to the Isles to see if anyone else had returned with him.

Chapter Text

The hills of rural England were quiet as the beast stalked through the underbrush. The large apex predator moved on all fours through the farmland, silent as the night as it followed behind a man dressed head to toe in armor.

The lion grumbled at the man, voicing his concerns to his friend as they squatted by the wooden fence. “Oh, hush,” Sir Ywain said to his feline companion, “You’re always so worried… I’m sure once we get back to Camelot I’ll return the horse to its rightful owners.”

The lion grumbled once again and looked nervously at the field of horses, then back to his friend. He grumbled again, warning him once more. Ywain watched the horses with a furrowed brow. “You’re right,” he sighed as he sat back on the ground, “What am I even doing? This was a stupid idea in the first place...”

The lion watched Ywain for a moment and whined, then pressed his head against his friend’s cheek to try and comfort him. Ywain smiled a bit and placed his hand on the lion’s back, running his hands over the coarse fur.

“Come on, let’s go find something to eat…” he smiled at his friend. The lion chirped back at him as they walked away from the horse field and back to the rolling hills of the countryside.

There was a small tavern down the road that was still open. Most people there were passed out or well on their way to be, so Ywain decided it would be a good idea to step in and try to find a bite to eat. He stood to the side, hiding in a bush as he took off his armor. His lion watched the street, keeping an eye for any passersby. He glanced back at Ywain and grumbled once more.

“I’ll be fine,” Ywain replied as he finished stripping himself of his armor, “We have to eat eventually, don’t we? Now, you just stay here and guard my armor…”

Ywain pat the head of his lion as he approached the tavern’s door. Then, wearing only his aketon, he went into the pub.

A small bell jingled as Ywain entered, making him flinch. Most of the other men in the tavern were glued to a small painting that moved as if alive. Ywain eyed the painting warily, before approaching the man standing behind the counter. 

“Barkeep?” he asked, trying to get the man’s attention. When he continued to stare at the magic painting, Ywain began to worry that he was under some sort of spell. “Excuse me, barkeep?” Ywain tried again. 

“Hm?” The barkeep’s head turned and faced him. He took a double take at the knight, squinting his eyes as he studied him. Ywain stood with his hands at his sides, clutching the small coin purse. He cleared his throat before leaning against the bar.

“Could I please have…” Ywain looked up and studied the menu that had been written in chalk above the bar. “…F-Fish and chips, please?” he asked with a nervous grin. He didn’t know what in God’s name chips were, but he knew that at least his lion companion could eat the fish.

The barkeep looked at him for a moment longer before he nodded and began to get the meal ready for him. Ywain sat down on one of the stools and waited for the food. He followed the other men’s eyes to the moving painting and decided to watch along. It appeared the men in the picture were playing some sort of game that involved kicking a ball around. Ywain couldn’t seem to figure out the name, but he gathered the rules fairly easily. It was mildly entertaining for what it was. Though, in his opinion, jousting was better.

As Ywain sat and watched and waited, he heard the bell attached to the door jingle. He spun around and looked at the doorway, and there he saw a man dressed head to toe in armor. He sat there for a brief moment completely stunned, before he looked down at the shield the man wore. The coat of arms on the shield was blue and white stripes, with a red lion.

“Marhault..?” Ywain asked, unsure.

“Ywain?” Marhault repeated as he took off his helmet. Ywain knew that face from anywhere, complete with all of its aged wrinkles.

“Oh thank Christ,” Ywain exclaimed as he stood from the stool and walked over to his friend. He took his hand and pulled him into an embrace. “I thought you died!”

“I definitely did,” the Irishman responded with a chuckle as he pulled away. Ywain’s attention was pulled away from his friend as the barkeep cleared his throat. Ywain spun around once more to see the man staring at the two of them with wide, confused eyes, and the plate of food in his hand.

“Uh- Thank you, sir,” Ywain said as he grabbed a fistful of golden coins from his coin purse, not bothering to count the amount as he placed it on the table. He grabbed the plate of food and pulled Marhault out of the tavern as quickly as he could, trying to get away from prying eyes.

The two men sat by the pub as they shared the food. Ywain’s lion got to have all the fish from the meal, while the two knights ate what were apparently ‘chips’—which, to Ywain’s surprise, were rather good.

“So Mordred killed you?” Marhault asked between bites.

“Mhm—Split my skull in two.”

Marhault couldn’t help but laugh. “Who would’ve thought? Mordred betrayed Arthur… I always thought he was a bad kid, but I never imagined he’d go that far.”

“Neither did I!”

“So… What’s happened?” Marhault asked, looking up at the younger man, “I’m sure I’ve missed a lot since Tristam did me in.”

“Guinevere cheated on Arthur.”

“What?”

“With Lancelot.”

“What?!”

“I know!” Ywain exclaimed, “He killed almost all of the Orkney brothers trying to rescue her! Well—Apart from Gawain and of course Mordred.”

Marhault went quiet as he tried to process what Ywain had told him. To be honest, he probably should’ve realized Lancelot and Guinevere were an item a lot sooner.

“…What happened to Gawain?” he asked as he looked at Ywain once more.

The smile on Ywain’s face disappeared as he recalled what became of his cousin. “Gawain… died trying to avenge his brothers. Lancelot ended up doing him in,” his voice was soft with sorrow, “He was dying for two whole days before he finally passed on… Even fought Mordred like that…”

“I… I’m sorry to hear that. I know you two were good friends…” Marhault muttered, then went quiet for a moment. “Christ, son—I’m sorry…”

“It’s… It’s fine, Marhault. I mean, if we’re back, that means he’s back, right?” Ywain tried to lighten up the mood and smiled at Marhalt. Even so, there was a betraying gleam of doubt in his eyes.

Marhault looked at him for a moment and sighed through his nose. “Sure, son,” he smiled, putting his hand on Ywain’s shoulder, “We’ll find him.”

Chapter Text

Arthur and Guinevere sat under the small pavilion in the seemingly infinite empty fields. It had been a rough week of trying to learn their way around this strange new world, not to mention trying not to die a second time. Nimue had given them supplies—food, water, the pavilion, and horses—so they had all the basic necessities, but dealing with the world was... an entirely different story. 

Arthur sat in the cot, the blade Excalibur resting across his lap. It felt so much... different than when he had last held it. It used to represent the strength of his kingdom, but now, as he sat in a glorified tent, unsure of where he was or what he was even doing here, he felt he was unworthy of the weapon...

“Arthur..?” the king’s gaze rose as he looked from the blade and to his wife. Guinevere rolled over and looked at her husband, stretching her arms over her head as she woke. “Is everything alright, love..?” she asked with a groggy voice.

Arthur smiled down at his queen, taking in her beauty all over again. “Everything’s just fine, love...” he cooed back at her before he leaned down and placed a kiss on her cheek, “I just... Need to go and clear my head, that's all.”

Guinevere’s eyes gleamed as she looked up at him, worry written across her face. “Alright, darling,” she replied softly, “I’ll be here...”

Arthur couldn’t help but look down at Guinevere for a moment. He had lost her far, far too many times, and yet she had always come back to him in the end. I would do anything for this woman, he thought to himself, anything and everything.

Arthur rose from his place on the cot and set the sword aside. He stepped out of the pavilion and squinted at the light of day around him. They were lucky to have found such a private place. Most people these days gave them odd looks as they trotted past atop their horses. Not to mention the roads were unsafe for their horses to begin with...

Arthur stretched his arms above his head, cracking his back and shoulders as he fully woke up. The sun felt warm on his face. There was comfort in knowing that despite how much had changed, it was still the same sun. Still the same place.

“Arthur!” a masculine voice shouted from ahead of him.

“Hm?” the king grunted. That wasn’t Guinevere—She was in the pavilion behind him, and not, well... a man. There was a man in a dead sprint coming towards the pavilion. Arthur’s eyes narrowed as he tried to focus on the man, the morning sun blocking his view.

“Bedivere..?” he muttered, holding his hand over his brow to block the sun’s rays.

“Arthur!”

“Oh, Christ- Bedivere!”

Arthur’s feet had never moved faster beneath him than they did now. He dashed to his friend, his heart racing with excitement, before the two men crashed into each other and pulled each other into a hug.

“Oh, Bedivere—You’ve got no idea how happy I am to see you!” Arthur smiled as he squeezed the shorter man, pulling his long-time friend into his arms.

“You’re happy?! Last time we spoke I watched you die!”

Arthur belly laughed at his friend, a grin returning to his face for the first time in years. Bedivere laughed with him. So much had happened to him recently—It was good to see a familiar face...

“So... What happened?” Bedivere asked once the laughter had died down and the two men had stepped away from each other, “I know you told me about you coming back someday, but I didn’t expect I’d return with you.”

“You’re not the only one,” Arthur chuckled as he began to walk his friend to the pavilion, his hand resting on his back. “Come on—We have much to discuss...”

“So,” Bedivere started as he watched Arthur set the plate in front of him, “You think that everyone came back?”

“Not everyone... ” Arthur replied, setting a second plate of food in front of his wife, “But a lot of us, yes.”

“So... Gawain?”

“Most likely,” Arthur sat at the small table with his own plate.

“Percival?”

“Possibly.”

“Merlin?”

“Not a clue.”

Bedivere nodded his head in agreement as he ate the rabbit Arthur had prepared. He paused for a moment, biting his tongue as he hesitated.

“...Lancelot?” he asked, looking between the king and queen. Guinevere tensed. Arthur’s eyes saddened. Bedivere immediately tried to backpedal. “I-I mean- I’m only asking, I- I’m sorry, your majesties...”

“It’s alright, Sir Bedivere,” Guinevere sighed, forcing a smile, “The past is the past... If we’re truly lucky, then perhaps only Arthur’s allies have returned to us. I don’t know what good having people like Lancelot or Mordred would do...”

“Right,” Arthur agreed, “It wouldn’t make any sense for them to return.”

The room went quiet, and the awkward feeling strangled Bedivere. He and the others returned to their breakfast in silence, and he felt the tension’s grip around his neck tighten...

The uneasy air around them was only stopped when the tent’s flap was pushed open, letting more of the sunlight into the room. Arthur, Guinevere, and Bedivere rose to their feet at the sudden movement. Gawain stood in the vestibule, holding the cloth door out of the way as he looked inside.

“Gawain!” Arthur, Guinevere, and Bedivere yelled at once.

Gawain’s eyes landed on his uncle and he nearly collapsed. “Oh thank Christ,” he breathed as he stepped in and moved toward the others. The three began to move to greet the young knight as his brothers Agravaine, Gaheris, and Gareth followed him in. All four of the brothers were relieved to be with good company, but as they went to greet Guinevere the air grew cold.

Guinevere stared at Agravaine. There was a hatred in her eyes none of them had ever seen before. Agravaine froze under her gaze. He felt like he would die, that she could kill him with just her look.

The five other men in the room watched them, their eyes flicking between the two. Agravaine and Mordred had been the men who had exposed her and Lancelot to Arthur, thus putting... Well, everything in motion. Guinevere being arrested and put to the stake, Agravaine, Gareth, and Gaheris’ deaths, Gawain to push for war with Lancelot—It was safe to assume she didn’t feel kindly about the young man.

Agravaine cleared his throat and began to speak. “H-Hello, Gui—”

“Queen Guinevere.”

“Right, yeah...” Agravaine felt his cheeks turn red with embarrassment.

Guinevere stared at the young man, her teeth gritted behind her pursed lips. The tension in the room felt so thick, one of their blades could slice it. Arthur cleared his throat to try and clear the air. “Uh.. The pavilion is a little small for everyone... Why don’t we take this outside?”

The other knights mumbled in agreement as they moved toward the door. Gareth grabbed Agravaine by his wrist and rescued him from Guinevere’s glare. The Queen’s eyes didn’t leave him until the tent flap closed.

“Well, that’s...” Arthur started at the tent flap, not sure what to say. “...I-It’s good to see you all again!” he grinned at his four nephews, trying to change the topic. The knights all began to greet each other once more, hugging their long-lost friends. Arthur smiled as he felt the tension melt away, but yet again their reunion was interrupted by the sound of conversation nearby.

“Is that..?” Gareth muttered as he looked at the source of the noise. A group of men had appeared and were walking past the tent, oblivious.

“Ywain!” Gawain cried as he started to run to him, a grin on his face, “Ywain, over here!”

Ywain and Marhault’s heads turned and looked back at the voice. His face lit up at the sight of his cousin. “Gawain!” he called out as he and Marhault began to run to the others, Ywain’s lion bounding after them.

Ywain and Gawain shook hands and pulled one another into a hug. “You bastard—I should’ve known you’d come back!” Gawain laughed. His eyes turned to Marhault next, and he took his old friend’s forearm and shook it. “It’s good to see you too, Marhault.”

“Good to be back, Sir Gawain,” he cheered, his kind, old eyes crinkling as he grinned. Marhault’s eyes next met Arthur, and his smile only grew as he walked over to the man. “Your majesty,” he greeted, “It’s been a long time.”

“Too long, my friend,” Arthur agreed as he shook Marhault’s hand. He sighed and leaned back, looking around at the growing gathering of men. 

“Where’s Guinevere?” Ywain asked.

“Back in the tent,” Arthur answered, gesturing back to the pavilion, “She... wasn’t the happiest to see Agravaine, so we’re giving her some air.”

“Ah...” Ywain nodded a bit, glancing at Agravaine, “God, you can only imagine how upset she’ll be if Lancelot shows up, huh?”

“God forbid,” Arthur chuckled nervously, massaging the bridge of his nose.

The other men also gave anxious laughs, glancing around to ensure that the man they muttered about wasn’t present. Gaheris, however, stopped laughing. “Oh my God,” he uttered, the smile on his face falling. The rest of the group looked around to see what the young man had seen.

Arthur’s face dropped. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

There came a man atop a white stallion, galloping across the field.

“Where’d he get the horse?” Gareth muttered to one of his brothers. Agravaine shrugged.

Lancelot rode over, pulling the horse to a halt as he drew near. The initial smile on his face grew to a nervous grin as he saw the expression of the other men. He cleared his throat before speaking. “Hello, gentlemen,” he announced, grinning. They kept staring at him, confused and exasperated.

“Where’d you get the horse?” Gareth asked.

“I...” Lancelot looked down at the stallion and paused. “...I don’t kn—”

Before he could finish, Gawain had run over and grabbed him by his leg, yanking him from the horse. The moment Lancelot hit the floor Gawain started to lay into him, dragging him across the damp ground and throwing himself at him repeatedly. Arthur paused for a moment, letting the glorified slap-fight go on for a second or two longer, before intervening.

“That’s enough!” the King cried as he pried the two men apart, grabbing them by the back of their armor and tossing them away from each other, “Gawain, your brothers are back—There’s no need for vengeance anymore!”

“He killed me!” Gawain yelled as he pointed at Lancelot, scrambling back to his feet from where Arthur had thrown him.

“I didn’t mean to!” Lancelot cried as he rose back to his feet, his white armor tarnished by the muddy ground, “And you said you forgave me in your letter!”

“That was to get you to help Arthur you- you-” Gawain tried to find the right word to describe how he felt, but as he looked at Lancelot’s face his anger was replaced with frustration. He growled and began to stomp around, pacing back and forth as he muttered to himself. “If you didn’t mean to kill me, why did you use Balin’s sword?!”

“Because it used to be Galahad’s!”

“Oh, Galahad can suck my—”

“Watch it.” Lancelot growled at him. Gawain huffed and began to pace once more.

“...I don’t get why you’re so upset about this,” Lancelot griped, “I mean, I killed them too, and they’re not upset with me!”

“Actually I am a little upset—”

“Shut up!” Every man except Gawain shouted at Agravaine.

Lancelot huffed and looked at Gawain. “The point is, it’s all over now!”

“Says the one who didn’t bleed out for two days!”

“Hey I starved to death!”

“That’s enough!” Arthur shouted, getting between the two men once more, “I refuse to have to treat two adults like children! You two are grown men! All of us may look younger but you two were well into your forties last time I checked! Now I want no more bickering or name calling or trying to best one another about who had the worst death! We’re here now! We’ll deal with all this drama once we’ve actually done what we were brought here to do!”

“And... what were we brought here to do?” Agravaine asked. 

Arthur went quiet for a moment. “I... I don’t know—”

The group of men groaned loudly.

“—But I can guess what the first step is!” Arthur shouted over their complaints, “Retaking the throne! Now, does anyone know if Camelot is still the capital of the kingdom?”

The men all went quiet as they began to think. “...We could ask someone!” Gaheris suggested.

Arthur sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. “I suppose we will have to,” he grumbles, “I will gather my things and retrieve Guinevere, and—”

“Guinevere?” Lancelot interrupted, his eyes immediately turning to the pavilion. When he glanced back, every man was looking at him, daring him to try something. Arthur’s glare cut the deepest, but Gawain’s was not far off. Lancelot’s face turned red with embarrassment. “I-I- Uh-” he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck, “I- Nevermind...”

“Uh-huh.” Arthur growled, before continuing, “ Then we will head for the nearest town...”

“It’s not far off! Marhault and I just came from there,” Ywain said, resting a hand on Marhault’s shoulder, who nodded to confirm.

“And... What do we do once we reach the capital?” Agravaine asked once more, "Wherever it may be."

“I’m... sure the present ruler will return power to England’s true king,” Arthur spoke, then muttered, “hopefully...”

“And if they don’t believe you?” Gawain asked as he crossed his arms.

“Pray that they do,” he sighed. “...While I pack up the pavilion, why don’t you make yourself useful?” he asks, turning to look at Lancelot, “You can ride into the nearest town and find where the capital is. Take Gawain with you to ensure you don’t run off.”

“Wh— Arthur!”  

“Complain all you want, Gawain, I’m not changing my mind. I declare a love day between you and Lancelot to air out your grievances,” he chuckled to himself.

“I—But those are only for warring parties!” Gawain began to protest. 

Arthur waved his hand in front of his face to stop him. “I used it for King Mark and Tristam, did I not?”

“Yeah, and we all know how that turned out...” Gawain growled and muttered under his breath.

“You may take my horse,” Arthur continued, overlooking Gawain’s comment, “He’s no Gringolet, but he’ll get you there.” Gawain continued to grumble as he walked over to the horse and began to inspect it, before grabbing its gear and beginning to tack it up.

Arthur looked back at Lancelot, who was still standing in the same spot, looking at the pavilion. Arthur cleared his throat, making the knight jump. “R-Right, yes,” he stuttered as he began to run after his horse.

Arthur sighed a bit and shook his head. “The rest of you wait here while I go and speak with the Queen...”

He turned away from the group and back to the pavilion. The entire world seemed to slow as he placed his hand on the tent flap. He took a deep breath and stepped in, preparing for what may happen. “Guinevere..?” he called and looked around the tent for his wife. 

Guinevere was standing over the small table as if using it to hold herself steady. “I-I heard him,” she muttered, “I know he’s out there-”

Arthur rushed over to his wife, wrapping her in a hug. “You’re alright, darling, everything’s alright...”

Guinevere fell into him and began to weep. “I-I- I-I’m-” she stammered, unable to speak between sobs. Arthur shushed her as his hand rubbed her back. He tried to soothe her, but words couldn’t seem to penetrate her guilt.

“I didn’t see him again,” she cried into his chest, “I never- I never saw him again- I-I promised I wouldn’t—”

“I know you did, love...” he whispered before placing a kiss atop her head, “I know...”

“I love you,” she sobbed, “I-I promise-”

“I love you too, Guinevere...” he whispered to her, rocking her back and forth in gentle motions as she continued to weep apologies into his shirt. Arthur didn’t pull away from her until he heard the sound of hooves beating against dirt, galloping away from camp. 

“He’s gone now, love...” he whispered, pulling away to look at her but not letting her go, “He won’t be back for a while...”

Guinevere sniffled as she came down from her hysteria. “O-Okay,” she sniffled once more and wiped the tears from her cheek, “I’m okay...”

Arthur smiled down at her. There was nothing except love in his eyes for his woman. He had experienced what it was like to lose her before, and he wouldn’t be able to survive it again...

“I love you, Guinevere...” he muttered before kissing her, “More than anything in the world...”

Guinevere’s eyes closed as he kissed her. A smile spread across her tear-stained face as she looked up at him. “I love you too...”

“Do you think you’re ready to leave now..?”

Guinevere wiped her face once more and nodded, swallowing any remaining tears she had. Arthur smiled and offered his arm to her, just as he had done many times before. Guinevere grinned up at him as she took it, and walked out of the pavilion at her husband’s side once more.

Chapter Text

Lancelot and Gawain sat atop their horses, walking alongside each other in an uncomfortable silence. At least to Lancelot it was uncomfortable. He could tell Gawain was angry with him. His face was all scrunched up. It always did that when he was upset.

Lancelot tried to find anything to fill the silence. He whistled, sucked his teeth, knocked his knuckles against the saddle—Anything. Anything except talk, of course. He glanced over at Gawain again, only to see the man’s face hadn’t changed. In fact, it had gotten worse. He had no other choice. Talking was his only option left.

“Ssssso,” he started, looking down and away from his friend, “Uh... How was the trip?”

“What trip?”

“To find Arthur.”

Gawain didn’t respond. Lancelot cleared his throat. “I mean- Having to learn new things about this strange place must’ve been difficult. Why, I spoke to this one woman, and she had this tiny black box that—”

Lancelot glanced over at the other man. Gawain was scowling at him, his nose still scrunched up. Lancelot stopped talking.

A few more minutes of awkward, unbearable silence passed. Lancelot’s eye twitched, and that was his final straw. “God damn it, Gawain, would you just- just talk to me?!” he shouted, turning to face the other man.

“Why should I?!” Gawain snapped back, “What have you done to deserve that?!”

“You’re my friend!” Lancelot cried. Gawain opened his mouth to speak, but the knight continued before he could. “You’re my best friend! My only friend in the entire world at one point! I hate that we’re fighting! I hate that we fought! I couldn’t care less that the others hate me, but for you to hate me, it—” Lancelot choked up and huffed, leaning on his fist.

“...What about Guinevere?” Gawain taunted.

“Don’t bring her into this.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s not important right now!”

“Oh really? Because apparently, she was important enough to kill my brothers over!”

“Just shut up!”

“I thought you wanted to talk?!”

“Why do you care so much about Guinevere?!" Lancelot snapped at him, "Can’t you see I’m trying to apologize?!”

“Because I-” Gawain stopped himself and exhaled through his nose, his face still scrunched, “That’s not important.”

“Then why did you bring her up?”

“Leave it, Lance,” Gawain told him, looking away.

“No! I want an—”

“Leave it!” Gawain barked as he looked back at the other man, his lip curled into a snarl.

Lancelot stared at him for a moment, startled. Gawain’s voice hadn’t ever bitten like that before, and he had challenged him to a fight to the death once. “Alright, I’m sorry...” Lancelot muttered, “Can we just... talk? Please?”

Gawain sighed and leaned back in his saddle. “Sure,” he grumbled.

“Thank you,” Lancelot breathed, relieved, “Now... I want to apologize. For... everything. You’re my friend...”

Gawain sat for a moment, his face relaxing into a soft frown as Lancelot spoke. “It’s fine, Lance,” he muttered, “I mean it’s not fine, but there’s no solving it any more than it’s been solved...”

“So... are we good?” Lancelot asked, leaning forward in his saddle to meet Gawain’s eye.

“Yes... We’re good,” Gawain replied as he stared straight ahead. He held his hand out and Lancelot smiled and shook it, before turning back to face the stone road again. Though Lancelot couldn’t shake the feeling there was something Gawain wasn’t telling him.

“...So how did you get the horse, anyway?” Gawain asked, turning to look at the other man.

“I don’t know,” Lancelot replied, exasperated.

“Do white stallions just appear wherever you go?” Gawain asked with a chuckle. Lancelot smiled and laughed with his friend. He was just glad Gawain was joking with him once more... “Of course it would be a stallion, not a mare,” Gawain continued.

“A-ha, very funny.”

“You have a thing for stallions, then?”

“I’m starting to regret talking to you again.”

Gawain laughed a bit. “You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

Chapter Text

With the help of most of his knights, Arthur had finished packing up the pavilion fairly quickly. Bedivere had used the 'I only have one hand' excuse to get out of helping and sat with Guinevere as the others worked.

“You know,” Bedivere said, scratching his stubble, “I do miss my beard, in an odd way. I had spent years growing it, and now it’s just... gone.”

“Funny,” Arthur interjected as he and the other knights joined the two, “It only took me a couple of months.”

“Liar!” Guinevere teased, “You didn’t have a beard until you were twenty. And it wasn’t a good beard until you were thirty!”

The knights all snickered as they joined the circle of conversation. “That’s true,” Arthur chuckled, his large, squared pauldrons moving as he laughed. The lighthearted conversation was cut short by the sound of approaching hoofbeats. Arthur rose to his feet and looked around, and in the distance, he saw two horses approaching, one brown and one white.

“Oh, God,” Guinevere muttered as she turned away, covering her eyes with her hands. She wouldn’t break her vow—not ever.

Lancelot and Gawain rode up. “Good news and bad news,” Lancelot started as he pulled his horse to a stop, “The b—”

He cut himself off as he saw Guinevere, her wrists pushing into her eyes to keep them shut and her face pressed against Arthur. He swallowed, his throat suddenly much drier as he stared at her. “The, um... The bad news is the capital is now in London, which is a two-day trip from here on foot,” he continued, his attention returning to the knights, “But the good news is that there’s something that we can take to get there!” he smiled, then paused. “...Gawain what did that man say it was?”

“A bus,” Gawain answered, his expression much more sour than it had been for the past hour or so.

“R-Right...” Lancelot continued, “So, we go into this town, find a bus, and take it to London. Three of us can go by horse if needed.”

“I recommend Sir Ywain,” Marhault spoke up, “He and the lion could cause issues in society...”

“I agree,” Arthur nodded, “And seeing as Gawain is our best horseman, I say he and Lancelot should go with. The rest of us will go and find one of these... buses, and meet you all in London.”

The knights all began their treks. Gawain, Ywain, and Lancelot all began their ride toward London, while the others headed toward the road to the nearby town.

As they entered the town Arthur glanced up at one of the street signs that lined the road. “Hm. Funny,” he chuckled a bit, “ ‘Arthur Street’. Perhaps I’m a bigger deal around here than I thought.”

“You do realize there are a million Arthurs in the world, my liege?” Bedivere asked.

“Ah... Perhaps not, then.”

The town was bustling with life under the midday sun. The knights were all somewhat startled by how everything seemed to move so... fast. One of the strange wagon-horse-beasts the brothers had seen earlier whizzed past them as they dodged out of the way, the creature screaming at them as it went.

“Good lord, what was that?” Bedivere asked as he watched it go past.

“I think they’re carriages,” Gareth muttered as he watched it vanish into the distance, “Living carriages...”

“But what of the horses?”

“I doubt they need horses with those things...” Marhault muttered. The group recovered from their encounter with the carriage and continued into town, being sure to avoid all the streets.

“Right, now where is this bus Gawain spoke of?” Arthur clapped his hands together as he looked around.

“I’ll ask, my lord,” Gaheris told him, before turning to find one of the citizens. He walked up to a man with a strange band on his head that covered his ears and was attached to a small piece of string that went into his pocket. “Pardon me, sire!” Gaheris called out as he jogged over to the stranger.

“Hm?” the man muttered as he removed the ear covering. His eyes went wide as he saw the collection of people all dressed in armor and noble garb. “The fuck..?” he mouthed as he studied them, looking between the knights and Queen Guinevere.

“We were wondering where we may find a ‘bus’ to London. You wouldn’t happen to know, would you?”

“Uh...” was all the man could say. He pointed to a small bench sitting by the street, with a sign that had the symbol of a more rectangular version of the living carriages on it.

“Ah—Thank you, friend!” Gaheris smiled at him, “God bless you!” He walked back to the others, leaving the man, who was still staring. He led the party over to the bench, where they waited... and waited... and waited...

“Ugh, this is hopeless!” Agravaine groaned, “The others are probably already in London by now! We should’ve just walked!”

“Isn’t patience one of the tenets of chivalry?” asked Bedivere.

“No,” Marhault replied, his voice groggy from boredom, “But discipline is...”

Just then, one of the carriages—this one much longer than the others—slid up to the bench and stopped. The doors creaked open, and the driver of the carriage stared at the strange menagerie. The knights all jumped up and made their way to the carriage’s door.

“Hello good sir, i-is this the bus to London?” Arthur asked, his words fast and eager.

“Uh... Yes..?” the driver responded, sounding a little unsure of himself, “You, uh... You have to pay thou—”

Arthur slammed a random amount of pounds into the driver’s hand, not bothering to count the amount, before he and the others charged onto the bus, muttering “excuse me”s and “pardon”s as they pushed past the other passengers and made a beeline for the back. They crammed themselves into the back row, all seven of them squeezing to fit in the seats. The other passengers were staring at them now. Arthur smiled a bit and waved before the bus began to move.

“So...” Gareth started, “This is a bus?”

“How long is this trip?” Agravaine muttered.

“Oh God, don’t start complaining,” grumbled Bedivere. The seven of them all went quiet, sinking into their boredom once more as the living carriage, or bus, drove them to London.

Chapter Text

Lancelot, Ywain, and Gawain stood by their horses as they looked around at the city surrounding them.

“Christ,” Ywain muttered, “No wonder this place is the capital...”

“What do you think came first? The city or the capital?” Gawain smiled at his cousin.

“Right, the royal family now lives in Buckingham Palace,” Lancelot spoke from behind a large map, “After Arthur and the rest arrive, we will head there.”

“And what of the horses?”

“And the lion?” Ywain added to his cousin’s statement, “I mean, I don’t know how friendly people there will be about him...”

“I don’t see what the issue could be,” Lancelot replied as he folded the map and tucked it into his chest plate, “We’re knights, after all. I’m sure once we explain that, they’ll let us continue.”

“Uh, Lance,” Gawain spoke in a soft voice, “Have you seen another knight beside us since you... well, reawakened?”

Lancelot paused for a moment and tapped his finger against his lip. “That.. does raise a few issues,” he muttered, “I suppose that we’ll just have to be cautious...”

Gawain cleared his throat and leaned toward his friend. “Um, Lancelot,” he whispered, “Did the map happen to say where we are?”

“Oh—Right,” Lancelot fumbled for the map and unfolded it, flipping it right side up and clearing his throat, “It says here that we’re somewhere called Knightsbridge Barracks.”

“Well, at least they remember what a knight is ,” Ywain snickered.

The three men waited for a moment before a bus came screeching into view. The doors opened and out came five knights, a king, and a queen. Guinevere was staring at the ground, holding onto Arthur’s hand for guidance.

“Ah, there you all are,” Ywain greeted them, “You... look terrible.”

“Buses are of the devil,” Bedivere hissed as he shook the tired out of his eyes.

“I don’t ever think I’ve napped that long and that poorly before,” grumbled Marhault as he yawned and stretched.

“Right...” Ywain continued, “Anyway, we’ve been doing some scouting. Sir Lancelot, the map?”

Hearing his name made Lancelot jump out of his skin. He dug for the map once more, pulling it out of his chest plate and unfolding it. “The, uh... the palace is nearby. We could walk there if needed,” he muttered from behind the map, blocking his view of the queen, “We just... take a right up ahead... then another, and...”

“Give me that,” Gawain hissed as he snatched the map from his friend and read it, “It’s easy, we just... uh...”

Gawain squinted at the map, before looking back at the others. “I’ll just show us the way,” he announced as he folded the map and stuck it back in Lancelot’s chest plate. He and Ywain stepped away from the horses and let Guinevere and Arthur take hold of their reins.

Not five minutes had passed on their journey when they came across several large signs reading “Lancelot Place” outside a tall, ornate building.

“Well, would you look at that!” Lancelot smiled as he walked over to the signs, “It appears that we’re still remembered, huh!”

“Funny, that,” Arthur added with a smirk, “There was a street by my name in the town we visited.”

“But Arthur’s such a common name , m’lord,” Ywain interjected, “It could’ve been anyone.”  

Arthur grumbled.

Gawain continued to walk them through the city, occasionally pulling the map back out of Lancelot’s chest plate when he needed to refresh himself. 

As they walked, a gaggle of three women walked up to Lancelot. “Excuse us! Hi sir,” one of the women said in an unfamiliar accent, “I just wanted to say, love the outfit! Could we get a picture with you?”

“Certainly!” Lancelot cheered, used to the routine. The other knights watched in confusion as the three women stood by Lancelot and held up a small metal mirror. 

The three women and Lancelot all posed, with him putting his hands on his hips and standing as knightly as he could. The woman tapped the slab, then she and her friends thanked him before walking off, giggling with each other. The knights turned and looked at Sir Lancelot.

“I’ve gotten used to it,” he shrugged, “They can freeze reflections in their small metal slabs. I fear with each picture they take, I lose another piece of my soul.”

“Ah,” the others replied in unison before carrying on.

Lancelot stood with the map in his hands, looking out into the field. “Ah, The Green Park,” he spoke, a grin spreading across his face as he turned to look at Gawain, “I wonder if that could be named after anyone?”

“You leave Bertilak out of this,” Gawain chuckled, before turning and looking at the large castle ahead of them. “So, this is Buckingham Palace?”

“Camelot was better,” Arthur interjected.

“Well, duh,” Bedivere chuckled.

“The clock’s new, though,” Arthur continued, looking up at what he had learned was Big Ben from the map.

“So... how do we get in?” asked Gareth.

“I... suppose we should just... walk in?” Arthur tried his best to reply. The other knights thought for a moment, trying to come up with a better plan but were, unfortunately, unable to.

The very next thing they knew, they were all standing in one of the lounges of the massive palace. 

“Alright,” Arthur muttered as he stared up at a chandelier, “Maybe this place is as good as Camelot.”

“I can’t believe that worked...” Gaheris muttered.

“It was a very convincing speech,” replied Marhault.

Soon a stout-looking man in a gray suit entered, and with him a wave of people all in different, more confusing attire. They had parchment and strange sticks that they wrote with, even more complex black metal slabs, and all talked at the same time. They bombarded the knights with question after question, not giving any of them a second to respond.

The man in the gray suit shushed them all, making the room fall silent. He cleared his throat and turns back to the king.

“Sir, I have with me historians, literary scholars, psychologists, and reporters to validate your claim that you are King Arthur,” the man told him with a hint of sass to his voice, “May I ask what evidence you have to back this up?”

“Well... I have Excalibur,” Arthur replied, going to unsheathe the sword. He was interrupted when a reporter asked him a question.

“Mister Pendragon, could you tell us who all these people are?”

“W-Well, this is Sir Bedivere, Sir Marhault, Sir Lancelot, and my nephews, Sir Ywain, Sir Gawain, Sir Agravaine, Sir Gaheris, and Sir Gareth.”

“And where’s Sir Mordred?” one of the historians spoke up, “The fifth Orkney brother?”

“Or Sir Sagramor? The sixth?” Another added.

“How should we know? We died before they did,” Agravaine spat back.

“Arthur, why are you still associating with Lancelot after he betrayed you and stole your wife?”

“We’ve reached a mutual understanding until we get this part of everything sorted out,” Arthur replied, deadpan.

“Gawain—Why do you have a skull?”

“What?!”

“Bedivere, how come you only have one hand?”

“How come you have two?” Bedivere replied as he placed his singular hand on his hip.

“Lancelot, shouldn't you be speaking French?”

“Oh- Je parle Français.”

“But in the legends, you speak English!”

“I… also speak English. I was raised in England by Lady Vivaine, one of the Ladies of the Lake.”

The historians, reporters, literary experts, and psychologists continued to bombard everyone with questions until Arthur couldn’t stand it anymore. He stood to his feet and unsheathed Excalibur, then held the blade up. Light beamed down from it, blinding all of the strangers.

“Listen here! And listen well!” he shouted, “I am King Arthur Pendragon, son of Igraine and Uther Pendragon, rightful ruler of England! Is my word not enough?! Must I pull another sword from another stone?! I am your king! This time may think us legends, but my knights and I are all real, and we demand respect!”

Arthur sheathed the blade once more and looked down at the others. They cowered on the ground before him, terrified and inspired . “M-My liege,” the man in the gray suit said with a bow. The others followed him, all bowing before the king.

“That’s better.” Arthur growled, “Now, my first order of business is to move this other family out . They may return when my business here is done, but for now, this is my home.

Secondly, I want every reporter, every historian, every literary whatever-they-are out! I demand a moment of peace and quiet! This land is strange to us, and we will need time to adjust to it.”

The man in the gray suit quickly ushered everyone out of the room. The knights all relaxed as they left, groaning and sighing. “Anything else, your majesty?” the man asked.

“Yes,” Arthur started, “We will all require our own private rooms, as well as food—”

“Lots of it,” Ywain interrupted, gesturing to the lion.

“—and education . Teach us what we must know about this time to survive it.”

Without another word, the man led the group to their own rooms within the castle and began moving the previous royal family out. Agravaine and Bedivere even stood at the top of the stairwell and waved to them on their way out.

Chapter Text

Gawain flopped onto the massive bed and fell onto the softest thing he’d ever felt in his life. “Ohohoh, I could get used to this,” he mumbled as he wriggled deeper into the cushy mattress. He felt himself melt into the bed and begin to drift into the first peaceful slumber he’d had in forever...

“...Psst, Gawain,” a voice whispered in his ear. Gawain grumbled and turned away from it.

“Go away...” he mumbled into the mattress.

“Oh, wake up,” the voice, which Gawain now recognized as Lancelot, said, “I need to show you something.”

“Never,” he replied, stretching as he rolled onto his stomach, “I am now one with the bedding...”

“Gawain...”

“Peace, Sir Lancelot.”

“Gawain!”

“Gawain is no more... Now it is only blankets and—mmm... feather pillows.”

“I’ll carry you.”

Gawain opened a single eye and looked at Lancelot with a smirk.

  “So... what is it?” he asked Lancelot.

“Television.”

“And this is magic?”

“Nono, it’s this thing called electricity. It’s made of lightning.”

“Sounds magic.”

Gawain watched as Lancelot scrolled through shows upon shows with only the click of a button.

“And this brick—”

“—Remote—”

“—Remote controls it?”

“Somehow, yes,” Lancelot replied, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“So... Is this all you wanted to show me?”

“Nono—There’s something specific.”

Gawain turned back and watched the screen, until Lancelot jumped up and pointed at it. “There! Look! See?”

“‘Merlin’?” Gawain scoffed, “Who thinks that looney deserves a whole show?”

“I’m going to watch it,” Lancelot told him.

“Have fun with that,” Gawain replied as he began to leave the room.

“Y’know, you’re in it too.”

Gawain stopped at the door and looked back at his friend, the smirk reappearing on his face.

“That’s outrageous!” Arthur shouted from his spot on the sofa, “Never in my life have I seen such inaccuracies!”

“We’ve only watched one show,” muttered Bedivere.

“Merlin was an ancient old wizard! I first met him when I was a boy! And my father never hated magic—in fact he asked Merlin for aid!”

“For aid in sleeping with your mother?” Gaheris added.

“Yes!”

“The affair was accurate,” Lancelot said from the floor, “Unfortunately.”

“I liked how Arthur punched you when you met,” Gawain smiled.

“Oh ha-ha, at least I was on screen for more than ten minutes.”

“At least you were on screen at all,” Marhault moped. 

Ywain patted his shoulder. “Well Marhault,” he said, “At least you didn’t have the hots for a sorcerer.”

The group of men, excluding Arthur, laughed at the remark.

“I liked Guinevere,” Guinevere smiled, “I liked that she looked like me.”

“Darling, no woman in the world could compare to your beauty,” Arthur crooned as he cupped his wife’s face. Lancelot’s face saddened as he heard the exchange from the couch behind him. He had vouched to sit on the floor and out of Guinevere’s line of sight.

Gawain placed a hand on Lancelot’s shoulder. “Oh, dearest Lancelot,” he teased and spoke in the most overly flirtatious voice he could, “I found your character was almost as strong, dashing, and handsome as you!”

Lancelot chuckled and pushed Gawain’s hand away. “Anyway,” he continued, “What should we watch next?”

“Is there other stuff about us?” asked Gareth.

“I’m sure there’s gotta be something,” Lancelot replied, grabbing the remote once more. Before he could start flipping through the shows, there was a knock on the door.

“My liege,” the man in the gray suit spoke as he entered. He paused as he saw the ten people crowded on the singular sofa, sitting in a pitch-black room and huddled around the television. He shook his head before continuing, “There are some people here asking for you. They say their names are Sagramor, Percival, Kay, and—”

Arthur didn’t wait for the rest of the names as he shot up from his seat and raced out the door and to the main entryway of the palace. He saw four people standing looking around in awe; Sir Percival de Gales, Sir Dinadan the minstrel, Sir Sagramor le Desirous, and his foster brother, Sir Kay. A grin spread across his face at the sight of his old friends, and he rushed over to greet them.

“Gentlemen!” he cheered.

“Your Majesty!” Dinadan replied, bowing to him as he spoke, “It is a pleasure to be in your presence once more.”

“Suck-up,” Sagramor chuckled as he took Arthur’s hand in a firm handshake, “It’s good to see you again, my liege.”

“And you all as well,” Arthur replied with a smile as he shook all four men’s hands. When he got to Kay, his brother didn’t offer his hand out to him. The two men looked at each other for a moment, before Kay laughed and brought his younger brother into a tight hug.

“Ah, Arthur!” he laughed, “Never in my life have I been so happy to see that ugly mug of yours.”

Arthur laughed as he pushed away from his brother. “I should say the same thing!” he chuckled, “How did you all find us?”

“You were everywhere in the papers,” Percival spoke as he handed a strange piece of parchment to the king. The headline read ‘SHOCKING NEWS—KING ARTHUR RETURNS!’ in bold text, with a picture of him from the brief interview they’d had a few days prior. “We just followed where it told us you were.”

“Ah,” Arthur replied as he skimmed the paper, “Well, I suppose we should be expecting a few more to rejoin our ranks in the coming days, then.”

Arthur tucked the paper under his arm and held his hands out. “Come, gentlemen,” he smiled, “Let me show you around the palace!”

It was only a matter of time until Arthur, as well as the new guests, had ended up in front of the television with the others once more.

“Whoever this Monty Python is, he most certainly didn’t take the Grail quest seriously,” Arthur grumbled.

“He got your character right,” Bedivere replied with a grin.

“And yours,” Arthur teased back, “Inform me, how is the Earth banana-shaped again?”

“They got Lancelot right too,” Gawain chuckled, “All blade, no brain.”

“Hey, I think!”

“About what?”

Lancelot opened his mouth to speak, but when he glanced over at Guinevere he went quiet. Gawain’s cheeky smile melted when he saw the look, and his face scrunched once more.

“Didn’t they say Gawain was murdered by the rabbit?” Ywain spoke up.

“Hey, so was Bors!”

“That one seems fairly accurate,” Sagramor teased his younger brother. Gawain huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Either way I was only mentioned. When do we get the spotlight?” Gawain complained as he gestured to himself, his brothers, Dinadan, and Marhault. “I lived an interesting life!”

“You slept around and had six children.”

“That’s interesting!”

The others laughed at him. Lancelot picked up the remote once more and began to look for more things to watch.

“Hm... Tristan and Isolde?” he suggested.

“No,” Marhault replied, “Too many bad memories...”

“Hm... The Adventures of Sir Lancelot?”

“Now you’re just stroking your own ego,” Gawain laughed. “Just like you stroke your-”

“Alright! Alright,” Lancelot cut off his friend. He sighed before a grin spread across his face. “How about the Green Knight?” he asked, turning to look at Gawain.

“Oh, that one seems interesting,” Gawain smiled. He crossed his legs and steepled his hands together. “Please, carry on, good sir.”

The next two hours of their day were spent with Gawain critiquing every aspect of the film, forcing Lancelot to pause it so he could elaborate as to what was wrong and what was right.

“...I didn’t go all the way with her!” he ranted, “All I did was kiss the woman! And even then, I gave Bertilak the kisses willingly!”

“We know,” the knights and lady sighed.

“And he said I was stroking my ego,” Lancelot grumbled to Ywain who nodded in response.

“And I DIE at the end?! PREPOSTEROUS! I went home happy and healthy!”

“We know,” the chorus of nobles sang once again, letting Gawain continue with his ranting. It was a good way for him to get his energy out, and so they let him talk for as long as he wanted before continuing their binge.

Chapter Text

They finished watching somewhere around two in the morning. They had found their way onto YouTube (which they had to call in the gray-suited man to explain) and had stumbled onto bootleg recordings of a very popular satirical musical that featured themselves as the characters. Gawain was in near tears from laughing so hard at one of the songs.

“Ha-ha, very mature Gawain,” Lancelot grumbled.

“Well,” Arthur yawned, stretching his arms above his head, “I believe I’m done for the night, gentlemen. I shall see you all in the morning.”

Arthur got up and stepped out of the room, and the other knights soon followed him, leaving only three in the room. Gawain, Lancelot, and Guinevere. The television had started playing some nonsense none of them were paying attention to. They were more concerned with the others.

Lancelot was the most tense out of the three. He could feel Gawain glaring at him, and he could tell Guinevere was nervous. He wanted Gawain to leave so badly, so that he may have a moment to speak to Guinevere, but Gawain refused to budge.

“Well,” Guinevere finally spoke, her voice as soft and delicate as a flower’s petal, “I believe I shall go to sleep as well...”

“Goodnight, your majesty,” Gawain called.

“Goodnight,” she replied, smiling as she rose to her feet.

“G-Goodnight, Gu- my Queen...”

Guinevere didn’t respond to him, only left the room, her slender form vanishing as the door closed. Lancelot watched the spot where she had been with sad eyes.

“You really aren’t going to let her go, are you?” Gawain asked with a bite in his voice. Without a word, Lancelot got up and followed the queen out. He could feel Gawain’s eyes on him as he left.

“Guinevere,” he called to her as he walked behind her.

“Go away, Lancelot,” she whispered.

“Guinevere, can we please talk?”

“I don’t want to speak with you,” she replied, walking faster.

“Why?—”

“Because I don’t want to!” she yelled and stopped moving, “I made a promise to Arthur that I would never see you again! I died upholding that oath, and here you are, tempting me to break it!”

Lancelot looked at her with sad eyes as he stepped over to her. “I... I still love you, Guinevere.”

“Don’t say that,” her voice cracked as she spoke.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t!” she snapped at him, turning back to face him tears in her eyes, “I love Arthur! He’s my husband! And I did him wrong because of you! All you ever were was some- some- some fling that gave me a thrill! And it’s because of my stupidity that Arthur died, and I won’t have it happen again! Now go!”

Lancelot’s heart shattered into a thousand pieces as Guinevere spoke. He hadn’t cried much in his life, but he feared he was about to now. He looked at her for a moment, looking at her puffy red eyes. This was the first time she had looked at him since Arthur died, and she was looking at him with rage and with sorrow. He took a step back, before turning and walking off, trying to hide his tears from her.

Guinevere stormed away, wiping her face of her own tears. She opened the door to her and Arthur’s room and slammed it shut, and pushed herself against it as she began to weep. 

Arthur was waiting by the door for her. He had heard the shouting from the hall, and had gotten up to investigate when Guinevere barged in.

“What happened?” he asked, taking her in his arms.

“I-I- Lancelot-”

“What did he do?”

“I-I’m sorry, Arthur, I- I-I looked at him. I-I couldn’t help it, he just- H-He kept trying to talk, and I couldn’t handle it anymore, and I turned back and yelled at him a-and told him I didn’t love him a-and—”

“Oh, Guinevere...” Arthur muttered as he pulled her away from the door and further into his arms, “It’s alright... You’ve more than made up for it, my love...”

“I-I don’t understand...” she blubbered and wiped her cheeks.

“Don’t understand what..?”

“How you could forgive me...” she cried, her eyes filled with tears. Arthur’s heart broke at the sight of her. He placed his finger under her chin and tilted her face up to him.

“Because I love you, Guinevere,” he whispered to her, “I felt what it was like to lose you... I saw you in that tomb, and I felt completely and utterly alone... It was a worse pain than anything I’d ever felt, physical or otherwise. I would rather you have a thousand lovers than to go a day without seeing your face...”

Guinevere smiled as he spoke. “I... I know the feeling,” she laughed before sniffling, “When I learned that you died, I was devastated... Lancelot had tried to visit me at the convent, but even his presence didn’t bring me joy... For the rest of my life, all I wanted was to be by your side once again...”

Arthur smiled down at his wife, tears of his own starting to form in his eyes. He leaned down and kissed her, taking in the warmth of her tear-stained lips, before wrapping his arms around her again. He rested his head atop her’s, letting her calm down as he held onto her, taking in everything about the woman he possibly could.

Wordless, the two made their way to their bed. They didn’t need to say anything else—they already knew what the other was thinking. How glad they were to be back at each other’s side, how sorry they were to have made their past mistakes, and how they had already forgiven each other about them. They laid there, entangled in each other, their breathing in rhythm like song. They drifted off together, comforted by each other’s warm embrace.

Lancelot stormed into his room with his wrist in his mouth, biting back sobs. Had what Guinevere said been true? That he was just a fling for her? No, no, surely she couldn’t—

He whined as he leaned back against the door and let himself break down. Guinevere’s demeaning words, her teary eyes, her screaming words all echoed in his mind. She wanted nothing to do with him. Nothing . His entire world fell around him. Years of love, loyalty, and devotion to her were all for naught. His oath—the very essence of his knighthood—was to her! He had loved her since the beginning, how could she not see that he loved her just as much, if not more than Arthur ever could?

Lancelot was pulled out of his thoughts as the door opened behind him, pushing him to the ground.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Gawain hissed at him.

“Leave me be...” Lancelot muttered, turning away from the other man.

“Absolutely not! I can’t believe you,” Gawain stormed over to him, “You’re the stupidest fucking man I’ve ever met in my life. You finally get a chance to make up for what you did, and what do you do? Try to do it all over again!”

“I love her!” Lancelot yelled, his eyes ablaze with anger and sorrow.

Gawain looked at him and scoffed. “No you don’t.”

“I- Yes I do! She’s beautiful and kind and graceful and smart and- and—”

“You’re just saying things about her! What makes you think you’re in love with her?”

Lancelot opened his mouth to speak, but had to think about his answer. “She... I-I’m devoted to her and willing to die for her!”

“Any knight worth two shillings is willing to die for something! That’s one of the tenets of chivalry you twit!”

“You mock my pain!”

“I mock your stupidity!”

Lancelot and Gawain glared at each other, flames of rage burning in their eyes. Gawain’s face had scrunched up again, and Lancelot’s lip had curled into a snarl.

“I love her,” Lancelot growled with a steady and firm voice.

“She’s not gonna sleep with you!”

Lancelot rose to his feet and looked down at Gawain. “Why do you care so much?!”

“Because I wanted that!” Gawain blurted out. Lancelot’s harsh demeanor waived for a moment. His eyes scanned Gawain’s face in confusion.

“You... wanted Guinevere?” he asked.

“No, I didn’t want Guinevere , I-” Gawain sighed and looked away, “It’s not important.”

“It seems fairly important-”

“No it’s not!” he shouted, “What’s important is you! You and your stupid obsession with a woman you don’t even love, and who doesn’t even love you!”

Lancelot and Gawain’s eyes met for a moment. There was some sort of pain in Gawain’s expression as he spoke, and Lancelot couldn’t name the source of it.

“She loves Arthur. And I know you don’t love her because you’re not listening to what she wants. What she wants is her husband, and you’re... not that.”

Gawain’s eyes lingered on Lancelot for a moment. He didn’t know how to tell him how important it was that he leaves her alone . He didn’t know what else to say to him. He looked at him for a moment longer before walking out of the room. 

Lancelot watched the door as it closed. Christ, that was... his thoughts trailed off as he made his way over to his bed. He didn't know what else to do. What else could he do? Stand there while he spiraled deeper into despair and self-pity?

He’d much prefer to do that while laying down.

Chapter Text

Arthur sat there, holding his head in his hands and staring down at a book thicker than his forearm. The man in gray, who’d been attending to them, had offered so graciously to provide him with a history book so he could learn what had happened in the last couple hundred years. 

It’s safe to say it wasn’t fun.

“‘Magna Carta’? What..?” he muttered under his breath as his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Looks like it was made to protect barons against a tyrannical king-”

Arthur jumped and cried out as the voice suddenly spoke next to his ear. He flailed a bit, reaching for the sword that wasn’t at his hip, and accidentally tipping over his chair in the process. His chair teetered for a moment as he desperately tried to get his balance back, but he fell to the side with a loud thud.

Bedivere laughed at him, doubling over as he watched his friend fumble. “Oh! Forgive me my Lord,” he muttered between laughs. “I didn’t intend to frighten you so.”

Arthur grumbled from his place on the ground and quickly rose to his feet, then straightened his chair. “It’s fine , Bedivere.”

A slight smile spread across Bedivere’s lips. “I-I’m sorry my Liege, but was that sass?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement.

Arthur grumbled as he sat back in his chair. “I apologize, Bedivere, I’m just- frustrated…” he muttered as he turned back to his book. “There’s just so much in here- I-I can hardly keep up! I mean, what the hell was the Battle of Hastings?!”

“Perhaps I can help, my Liege.” Bedivere leans against Arthur’s chair, standing over him as the two begin to read the thick history book once more. Minutes turned into slow, slow hours as they slogged through the text.

“The Black Plague? Glad I wasn’t around for that,” Bedivere muttered as his eyes skimmed the book.

“Yes—would’ve been dreadful for my political standing,” Arthur replied, earning a chuckle from his friend.

“Hello, gentlemen,” a new voice sounded from the doorway. The two knights looked up and saw Sir Dinadan.

“Dinadan!” Arthur greeted the knight, gesturing for him to join them. “Come in, please. Perhaps your humor and wits will rescue us from this hellish boredom.”

“ Hellish boredom? Why, how dreadful! ” Dinadan cried, faking devastation as he walked into the room and joined the two other men. He sat atop the oak desk Arthur was hunched over and looked down at the book. “What is it exactly that we’re doing?”

“Seeing what all we missed,” Arthur replied. “There’s this thing called a ‘Magna Carta’ that could be a reason for some concern-”

“ Ugh! ” Dinadan groaned as he rolled his eyes, seeming bored already. “Do you ever focus on anything other than politics, my king?”

Arthur looked up at Dinadan. He blinked slowly, his face completely expressionless. “No,” he finally answered, still staring the bardic knight in the eye.

“Well, what happens next?” Dinadan asked, crossing his arms as if he had no clue what Arthur was so bothered about.

“Well, there was the Black Plague, and then this thing called the War of the Roses.”

“‘House Lancaster’? Do you think they have any relationship to Lancelot?”

Arthur and Bedivere chuckled at Dinadan’s comment, before all three men began to focus on reading. The War of the Roses, while mildly entertaining, was still petty politics and drama. However, Dinadan seemed to grow very interested whenever they began to read about William Shakespeare.

In fact, he grew so interested he began to scour the shelves of the surrounding library trying to find some of the scripts he’d written. The first he came across was Hamlet , which he found incredibly entertaining.

“Lady,” he began reading from the script, giving the best theatrics he could, “shall I lie in your lap?”

Bedivere, holding his own script, began to read. “No, my lord!” he replied whilst doing the best girl-voice he could.

“I mean, my head upon YOUR lap?”

“Ay, my lord.”

“Do YOU think I mean CUNT... rrrrrrry matters?”

Dinadan’s delivery caused Bedivere to break his character, laughing at him. Dinadan, taking the laughter as a sign of victory, dipped his head and bowed. 

Arthur, too, laughed at him. “Dinadan, you truly are a delight!”

“I’m afraid I don’t know who this ‘delight’ person is, my Lord, but I can assure you I am Dinadan.”

Arthur chuckled at the joke, but unfortunately his responsibilities called for him. Sighing, he turned his attention back to the book with a smile on his face. He and the two other knights began to read for a while, before their faces dropped. Arthur’s brow furrowed.

“What the hell is a constitutional monarchy?”

“I’M NOT IN CHARGE ANYMORE?!” Arthur shouted as he paced around the room. He was not taking the news well.

“HUNDREDS OF YEARS SPENT IN A BLOODY COFFIN, REAWAKENED FROM MY ETERNAL SLUMBER, JUST FOR THOSE BASTARDS TO GO AND CHANGE EVERYTHING?!”

“M-My liege, I-”

“I CAN’T BELIEVE IT!” the King bellowed, cutting off poor Dinadan who was attempting to calm him down. “‘ONCE-AND-FUTURE-KING’ MY ASS! THEY’VE MADE ME A BLOODY FIGUREHEAD!”

“Figureheads can still hold power, my Lord!” Bedivere tried desperately to help Dinadan calm the raging king.

“OH BULL-SHIT, BEDIVERE!”

Arthur’s shouts could be heard throughout the castle, raising alarms through its residences. The whole host of knights, excluding two, gathered in the study, attempting to get Arthur to stop screaming.

The King eventually ran out of steam. He sat at his desk, with his head in his arms and his face in the book. Guinevere sat next to him, gently rubbing his back. The room, filled with over a dozen men, was dead silent.

“Arthur..?” Guinevere asked in the softest voice she could muster. “How are you feeling, love..?”

“Miserable,” Arthur grumbled into the table.

“Are you going to be alright, love..?”

Arthur’s back visibly lowered as he left out a heavy sigh. “Yes, dear…” he murmured. He knew his knights were watching, and he’d already made a big enough fool of himself in front of them for today.

He took a moment longer to wallow in anguish before sitting up and taking a deep breath.

“Right, then,” he clapped his hands together and looked back down at the book in front of him. “How do we dismantle a constitutional monarchy?”

Chapter Text

Lancelot hadn’t left his room much for the past few days. God, how could he? He’d shamed himself once again, and he was too afraid of facing Arthur after it. Or Guinevere. Or Gawain. Especially Gawain.

Oh, God, Gawain . How his words had plagued his mind for the last few days. His cries of “because I wanted that!” had rattled the French knight’s brain. Into the late hours of the night he’d think of what he’d said, trying to figure out what he meant. The shrill sound of his voice, how he swore at him, called him a fool, mocked his anguish—how his emerald eyes seemed to burn through his very soul. Maybe he was right. Maybe Lancelot was a fool. A selfish, selfish fool who refused to let go of the things he loved. He felt pathetic. He was pathetic.

Lancelot was curled up on his bed, sitting in his dark room, being miserable and pathetic and a fool. The door opened a crack, blinding him with a sliver of light. “Agh-” he grumbled, putting his hand over his eye.

“Are you alive?”

Lancelot sat up. “Gawain..?”

“You’re alive,” the knight nodded as he stepped into the room. 

Lancelot groaned and flopped back onto the bed, burying his face into one of the pillows.

“I’ve brought food,” Gawain set a plate down on the nightstand. Lancelot tilted his head to the side, uncovering his face just a smidgen to see what food Gawain had brought.

“What is it..?”

Gawain looked down at the plate for a moment. “I’ve got no idea.”

“Mmm…” Lancelot rolled over again, looking away from the food.

“Really? Are you still that moody?”

“It’s like you said,” Lancelot mumbled into the pillow, “Sir Lancelot is no more. Now it is only blankets and feather pillows.”

“Oh, God’s bones,” Gawain rolled his eyes. He sat down on the bed next to his friend. There was silence for a few moments as neither man spoke. Gawain fidgeted with Lancelot’s blanket. Lancelot continued to lay face down on the pillow, silently wishing Gawain would leave. 

“…I’m sorry I yelled at you,” Gawain finally said.

“I deserved it.”

“A bit.”

Gawain expected his joke to get a laugh from Lancelot, but he was met with silence. Ah, the silent treatment , he thought to himself as he looked down at the pathetic Lancelot. How he despised being on the receiving end of this punishment. He wouldn’t push Lancelot to speak if he didn’t want to, but he also wasn’t going to leave him alone. He sat there, bothering Lancelot, reminding him of his presence by subtly messing with the blankets.

“…Thank you for bringing food.”

“Someone had to.”

“Mm.”

There was another silence between them.

“God, I really am stupid, aren’t I..?” Lancelot muttered.

Gawain sighed and looked over at his friend. “You’re not stupid,” he tried to reassure his friend, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You just… were dumb.”

“Thanks, Gawain.”

“I’m doing my best,” Gawain sighed. Gawain was never the best at comforting people. Physical wounds he could mend and heal, but emotional wounds? He was beyond lost.

“…I don’t think you’re stupid,” Gawain rubbed his thumb across Lancelot’s shoulder, doing his best to help him. “I think you just… fucked up. We all do that.”

“Do your fuck ups ever cause the death of all your friends?”

“Technically yes, because I was the one who dragged Arthur with me to go and challenge you which let Mordred stage a coup while he wasn’t there.”

Lancelot laughed a bit. 

“Good to know my suffering brings you joy.”

“You know that’s not why I laughed,” Lancelot lifted his head up from the pillow to look back at his friend.

“I know,” Gawain smiled. Seeing that Lancelot was in a better mood, Gawain decided to mess with him further. “I’m well aware you love me,” he spoke as he stretched his arms over his head and laid over the other knight’s back, making him laugh more.

“You’re insufferable , Gawain,” Lancelot chuckled.

“And you couldn’t live without me,” Gawain retorted with an air of confidence. That joke didn’t earn a laugh, which was cause for mild concern.

“…Did I ever tell you what happened after I got your letter?” Lancelot uttered, his tone growing serious.

“No,” Gawain’s voice changed to match Lancelot’s.

Lancelot was silent for a moment, his eyes looking at a wall as he remembered receiving that letter. He could still see the droplets of what he assumed were tears and the smudged, frantic writing, as if Gawain knew he was on his deathbed and his time was running short. “…It devastated me,” he muttered. “It felt like the air had been knocked from my lungs, like I’d been kicked in the stomach. I don’t think I’d ever been that scared before in my life.”

Gawain studied Lancelot’s face, watching as his gray eyes focused on the wall. God, those eyes. Like the steel of a sword. “What about whenever Guinevere was being put to the stake..?”

“Not even then,” Lancelot muttered his response, his words almost breathless. “With that I knew I could save her, but you—”

Lancelot paused as his voice cut out. He took a sharp breath in, his chest rising as he took in the air. “I’d already lost you…”

Gawain’s gaze softened as he looked down at his companion. He tried to think of something, anything to say. To apologize for making him go through that, for having the fight, for everything. He opened his mouth to speak, but Lancelot beat him to it.

“Gawain, what did you mean when you said ‘I wanted that’..?” He looked at his friend, searching his face for some kind of explanation. 

Gawain’s eyes widened at the question. “I- I-” he stammered, trying to find the words. He looked into Lancelot’s steel eyes, almost mesmerized by them. He took a deep breath, almost like he was preparing himself for something. Lancelot couldn’t figure out what. 

“…Lancelot, I-”

The door to Lancelot’s room was thrown open. Gawain and Lancelot both snapped to a sitting position, and Lancelot grabbed his blanket and pulled it up to cover his chest. 

Arthur barged in, clutching a book in his hands. “I CAN DISSOLVE PARLIAMENT!” he shouted. A broad smile was on his face, and his eyes were wide with excitement. Or insanity. It was hard to tell.

“That’s great, my liege!” Gawain gave the King a nervous smile. “Just one question. What is parliament..?”

Before they knew it, Arthur was giving them a full history lecture. Magna Carta, parliament, Queen Elizabeth—all things neither Lancelot or Gawain retained. Both of them had desperately wished Gawain hadn’t asked Arthur anything. Lancelot desperately wished he would get his answer, but he knew that thought was far gone. Maybe someday, though.

Chapter Text

Well, Arthur had figured it out. Sometime around Christmas of next year he could dissolve parliament and take back his kingdom. He just had to wait out the next year, which sounded easy enough. Unfortunately, Arthur wasn’t a very patient man. He always needed something to do . If he stopped moving, he would fall dead—metaphorically, of course.

Arthur paced around the castle, walking the long hallways and looking at paintings and portraits of the monarchs who had taken his place while he was… dead? Sleeping? He hadn’t really figured out what had happened to him while he was in Avalon. He preferred to say he was resting , and whether that was taking the world’s longest nap or resting in peace was up to whomever he was speaking to.

As he scanned the faces of the past kings and queens, he felt almost saddened. All those years, all this history, and he had missed it. He’d heard stories of great battles that had occurred—the discovery of the Americas, Napoleon and the French Revolutions, two world wars! It made him wonder why he had come back now and not then…

“Your Majesty,” a posh voice spoke. Arthur spun around to see the man in the gray suit behind him, standing at attention. He bowed deeply as he greeted the King, and Arthur couldn’t help but feel a little uncomfortable at it. He’d gotten so used to the knight’s being informal with him that he’d nearly forgotten that he was royalty.

“Y-You don’t have to bow, Sir,” Arthur gestured for the man to rise. He felt like he was a kid having to adjust to being the king all over again.

The courtier rose to stand straight up with impeccable posture. “Someone has arrived for you, my liege.”

Arthur raised a brow. Who could it be this time? Pellinore? Tristam? Dagonet? Oh, please let it be Dagonet. Arthur could’ve use a little entertainment.

“Well bring me to them, then!” Arthur replied with a smile, excited to see which of his knights might’ve returned to him. The man bowed, making Arthur tense once more, and led the king down the endless halls and to the main entrance. He opened up the doors, only to see there was no one standing outside.

The courtier’s formal exterior seemed to crack a bit as he tried to find an excuse. “I- Well, I-” he stuttered as he looked out at the empty doorstep, “I-I could’ve sworn someone was here, m’lord!”

“That’s… alright,” Arthur muttered, equally as confused as the poor courtier. He walked up to stand next to the man and looked out the door, trying to see where this knight might’ve gone.

“My Lord, whatever are you looking for?” Arthur heard an old, scratchy voice say from behind him.

“Someone who said they wished to see me,” Arthur muttered as his eyes searched the courtyard. “I was told that they-”

Arthur snapped out of his distracted state and instead into one of confusion. He spun around to see the source of the voice, only to be greeted with an old and familiar face.

“Merlin!” he cheered at the sight of the old wizard.

“It’s good to see you again, my King,” Merlin bowed deeply. Arthur, once again regressing to his boyhood at the sight of his old friend, forgot all formalities and hugged the wizard as tight as he could.

“Oh, I never thought I’d see your wrinkled face again!” Arthur laughed as he pulled away from the old man. Merlin was dressed… oddly. Instead of the robes Arthur remembered, the wizard instead wore  a colorful tunic—or t-shirt, as Arthur had been taught—with some short trousers and sandals. “Where have you been?!”

“The Bahamas!” he replied with a laugh. “Well, only recently the Bahamas. I’ve been going everywhere since they got rid of the rock that kept me in that cave.”

“Wait, so- You weren’t dead?” Arthur’s face twisted in confusion as he looked down at the old man.

“No,” Merlin answered in a monotone voice as he peered up at Arthur from beneath his bright orange visor. “I’ve been alive the whole goddamn time.”

“Well, that’s…” Arthur began. It must’ve been hell to have suffered all those years locked in isolation in some dank cave. But at least Merlin looked like he’d had a good time once he’d been released. “I’m… glad you’re back, Merlin,” he smiled down at the old man, clasping his hand over his shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re back, Arthur!” Merlin exclaimed. He began to walk away, leading Arthur away from the doors and from the man in the gray suit, who looked dumbfounded. “Come on, boy. We have much to do, and I have some people to meet.”

Arthur had spread the news of Merlin’s arrival to the others, asking them to gather in the lounge where they’d all watched the television for the first time. Merlin had been missed by those that knew him, and many were glad to see his return. Yet there were others that had never gotten a chance to meet the old man and now wanted to make his acquaintance. For the most part it was a happy reunion, except for when Lancelot tried to introduce himself.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Merlin,” Lancelot bowed, trying to be as cordial as possible. “I am Sir Lance-”

“Yeah, I know who you are, Lancelot du Lac,” Merlin interrupted. “I’ve known who you were since before you even arrived at Camelot. Bitch.”

The room went quiet. Lancelot stood slack jawed as he looked at the old man, shocked by the insult. He looked around the room to see if someone would intervene, but everyone looked away as soon as he met their eyes. “I- Well, I-”

”YOU are a dumbass,” Merlin interrupted once again, still wearing a straight face. “Greatest knight you may be, but brains were never your strong suit. Neither is emotional intelligence, it seems.”

Lancelot was stunned at the barrage of insults, some of which were words he’d never heard before. But before he could ask what brought this on, Merlin started speaking once again.

“Now, have any of you ever heard of a daiquiri?” the wizard asked as he walked out of the room, leading the knights towards the kitchen. Gawain looked back at the poor man and shrugged before he left with the others. Lancelot stood there, dumbfounded, before he dragged his feet and trailed behind the group, pouting all the way there.

Chapter Text

“And how many independence days are we responsible for?”

“Sixty-three,” Merlin replied. He was standing by Arthur’s desk and wearing a long bathrobe. It was more like what Arthur was used to him wearing, but he prayed the wizard was wearing something beneath it. 

It had been roughly two weeks since the wizard arrived. Arthur found that learning history from Merlin was a lot more entertaining than reading from the book.

Arthur groaned and buried his face into his hands. “Sixty-three…” he repeated. “Why? Why couldn’t they have just been normal for a couple hundred years until I got back?”

“You conquered Rome, Arthur,” Bedivere, who was half-sitting on the desk, interjected.

“Rome started it!”

“No one here knew you were going to come back,” Merlin chimed in. “They thought you were an old legend, remember?”

Arthur grumbled to himself, admitting defeat. “Doesn’t excuse all of that though.”

“Perhaps not,” Merlin laughed to himself. Silence fell upon them as they waited for Arthur to get back to asking questions, but he just kept his head in his hands. Merlin looked from the king to Bedivere with a nervous expression. “…I think that’s enough tutoring for today, Arthur,” he eyed the man warily, exchanged looks with Bedivere, then turned toward the door. “Why don’t you two talk for a while? You could use a break,” he added before he left, shutting the study’s door behind him.

Arthur grunted in response, barely acknowledging Merlin’s exit. Bedivere studied him before putting a hand on his back. “Are you feeling alright, Arthur?”

“It’s fine, Bedivere,” Arthur lifted his head from his hands and smiled at his friend. The smile was soon replaced by a look of exhaustion on his face. “I just… have been thinking about Guinevere more often. I think the ‘honeymoon’ phase has started to lose its luster. It’s not her fault. It’s just my old mind playing tricks on me, you know?”

Arthur gave Bedivere another half-hearted smile only to be met with his concerned expression. “Would you like to talk about it? I don’t want to chock it up to just your old mind…”

Arthur hesitated. Bedivere had been with him through thick and thin, of course his closest friend and confidante would be willing to listen. He sighed and looked away from Bedivere and to his hands. “I started thinking about everything again. I remembered how badly it hurt whenever I learned about the affair—And for it to have gone on that long?” he sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I’m happy to have her back, and I’ll gladly help her with whatever she needs help with, but every time she comes crying about Lancelot I can’t help but feel that hurt all over again. I want to believe she’s gotten over him, but the fact that she keeps acting like that whenever he’s around…” 

Bedivere only grew more concerned as Arthur kept talking. He wanted to speak his mind and to tell him what he thought—that Guinevere was a narcissist who had done more harm than good—but he bit his tongue. He didn’t want to upset Arthur. After all, having Guinevere around made him so happy. But there was a gnawing feeling in his chest that something about this was wrong. “I really wish I could help you, my liege,” he offered as he put his hand on Arthur’s forearm. “Maybe you should talk to Guinevere about this?”

“Oh, good God, no!” Arthur shook his head at the mere notion. “She’s been through so much already! She’s had to put up with Lancelot all this time! Not to mention the four years after Camlann!”

Bedivere wanted to roll his eyes so badly. “I understand, Arthur,” he sighed. “I’m sorry for speaking out of turn.”

Arthur waved off the apology. “Nonsense, Bedivere. You’re always allowed to speak your mind.”

Bedivere forced a smile at that. “Of course, Sir,” he replied through gritted teeth. You’d kill me if I spoke my mind, he thought to himself. Or you’d be heartbroken. I think that would be worse.

As soon as he’d managed to get away from Arthur, Bedivere gathered what knights he could into one of the lounges. Being the creatures of habit that they were, they had rearranged the furniture into a circular shape.

“He said that?!” Ywain exclaimed. “He? Him?!”

“He did!” Bedivere nodded as he looked around at the other knights. “I think he’s finally getting fed up with her.”

The makeshift round-table went quiet for a moment. No one wanted to say it but it was evident they were all thinking it. Sagramor decided to take the bullet. “I didn’t want to say anything, but Guinevere has been…” he hesitated, searching for the right word to use, “…dramatic as of late.”

“I know!” Dinadan exclaimed. “Now I might not have been around for the big reveal, but from what I’ve heard, she’s just as guilty as Lancelot is!”

There were vague mumblings of agreement from amongst the knights. Lancelot pressed himself further against the couch to try and disappear.

“She cheated on Arthur, didn’t she? Lancelot,” Dinadan snapped around to the knight, “which of you initiated the affair?”

Lancelot started sweating. It felt like he was on trial. “U-Um… well, it started when she’d gotten kidnapped by Melegaunt—”

“That long?!” Marhault exclaimed.

“—and she invited me to her window in Bagdemagus’ castle. I showed up, and I told her I wouldn’t go into her room unless she wanted me to. She said she did, and so I went in…”

“So she invited you to her window!” Dinadan sounded like he’d just cracked a case. “And then she accepted your offer and invited you inside her room! So she is at fault! Not to say that you don’t have any guilt in this, Lancelot—but this whole time we’ve been blaming him when we should’ve also been blaming her!”

“That wailing has always felt too performative for me,” Kay grumbled. “‘Oh, boohoo! I cheated on my husband! Oh, I’m so sad!’ Get a grip.”

“I don’t think we should be mean, everyone,” Percival added, looking between Kay and Dinadan. “It’s none of our business to make comments on their relationship.”

“Percival,” Gawain put his hand on the other knight’s shoulder, “their relationship killed us. We have every right to make commentary.” Percival shut his mouth.

Bedivere hesitated again, not sure whether to speak his mind or not. But there was a good chance they all wanted to say something worse than he did. “Look, all I'm saying is if she were really over Lancelot like she keeps trying to convince Arthur she is, she wouldn’t be sobbing whenever she’s in the same room as him,” he crossed his arms as he spoke and leaned back against the cushy armchair. “It feels more like she’s trying to make Arthur believe that she suffered because of Lancelot. It’s like it’s a distraction to keep him from realizing she’s a bad person.”

“It’s almost like she’s assuming the role of the victim,” Gareth chimed in, “when in actuality…”

“…Arthur’s the victim,” Gawain finished his brother’s sentence. There was a moment of silence amongst the knights as they thought it over. Ywain looked over at Lancelot, who still looked like he was trying to disappear.

“Hey, Lance—just a random question—how old were you when you and Guinevere started the affair…?”

Lancelot looked up from the ground. “Twenty-one, I think? Freshly twenty-one, yeah.” 

“And how old was she…?”

“Twenty-nine.”

There was an overwhelming sound of disapproval from the other knights with utters of “ooh” and “that’s not…”

Lancelot looked around at the others. “What? What’s the problem???”

“An eight-year age gap, Lance?” Gawain asked, seemingly in disbelief. “I like my women a little more mature too, but that’s a lot.”

“You didn’t put it together when the affair was first revealed?”

“We were more concerned about the affair!”

Lancelot opened his mouth to make a retort, but decided against it. Gawain had a point.

“The more we talk about Guinevere, the less I like her,” Gaheris grumbled.

Lancelot folded in on himself as he listened to everyone berate Guinevere. Maybe they have a point about her and Arthur, he tried to reason with himself, and maybe the age gap between us had been weird, but… He churned his brain, trying to think of an excuse for her, but he couldn’t think of anything.

Gawain watched Lancelot’s expression as he did the mental math. He felt awful for him but he didn’t want to make Lancelot feel worse by making him talk about it in front of everyone else.

“So… what do we do?” Sagramor asked as he looked around the circle. “We all know that Guinevere is awful, but Arthur doesn’t.”

Ywain nodded. “She does make him happy…”

The group went silent as they tried to think of some plans, but Agravaine thought of one first. “Bedivere,” he looked across the circle at the other knight. Bedivere got a look of ‘oh God don’t put this on me’ on his face. “You’re his advisor, right? Maybe you could try to advise him that staying with Guinevere is a bad idea!”

The knight sighed. “I suppose I could try. I’ve known him the longest, and he trusts me the most. It would make sense that I’m the one that has to break his heart.”

Some of the other knights have him a pitying look. None of them would trade places with him about this. After all, all but two had seen how distraught he’d gotten when he learned about the Constitutional Monarchy. It would be a heavy burden, but if Bedivere could bear the responsibility of throwing Excalibur away, he could do this.