It was ten days after the knights agreed to assume Fira’s death. Two days previous, the knights had held a private ceremony in Gaius’ chambers, nothing ornate, and lit a candle for her since they could not burn a pyre in her honor for her sacrifice. Now they struggled to fall back into their regular activities.

“Faster!” Gwaine ordered his recruits. “Come on, Mark. You're better than that!”

Mark bit his lip and raised his sword again. Parry, parry, block, strike. He swung with ferocity, with a fire deep inside him, spurred on by his mentor’s criticism. Michael stumbled back, struggling to keep up with his brother.

But then Michael found his own strength again. He tore forward. Strike, strike, block, parry. He danced with the sword, catching Mark on the shoulder with a painful slap.

Gwaine nodded for them to part. “Good job, both of you. You both stepped up to the challenge.” He looked up and caught sight of Leon marching towards him with serious speed. Gwaine gestured for Mikhail and Michael to have a go as he walked to meet Leon. “What’s up?”

Leon’s face betrayed a strange mix of emotions like rarely happened. Gwaine saw relief and suspicion and joy all wrapped up in one.

“Gwaine, send your three to Sir Tor’s group,” Leon ordered. “You’ve got to come with me.”

“Why?” Gwaine quizzed him, even as he walked over to his students and gave them directions. He turned back to Leon when he provided no answer. “What's happened?”

“You will not believe who’s come back,” was all Leon replied. He shook his head and suspicion crawled back on his face. “I hardly believe it myself.”

“Fira?” Gwaine looked hopeful.

Leon’s face contorted in regret. “No.”

As they hurried into the citadel, Gwaine wondered who else could have possibly come back. They weren't missing anyone but Fira. But as he turned a corner and was led to the new, larger Round Table room, he heard a voice that made him stop in his tracks.

Gwaine turned to Leon, who halted a few steps ahead. “That's not…”

Leon merely smiled and shrugged.

The new Round Table stood larger than the stone one. Carved from wood, a place for every member of the druid prophecies was there plus one extra which was usually occupied by Mordred. At each place, carved in the Old Religion, were their titles.

-*-

King Arthur drew off the cloth which covered the new table quickly, revealing the beautiful mahogany wood underneath. His companions stood nearby as he began his speech.

“Hundreds of years ago, the old kings of Camelot used round tables to provide every man an equal voice. Once again this will be the case.” He paused and looked around. “Sir Gwaine, take your seat as Strength.”

Gwaine smirked and sat down. He liked his title. With his finger he began to trace the runes which bore his word.

“Sir Galahad, take your seat as Purity.”

The knight bowed and sat down. He looked left to Gwaine and smiled happily.

“Sir Elyan, take your seat as Patience.”

Elyan eased himself into his chair with grace. He met Arthur’s gaze and nodded thanks.

“Sir Leon, take your seat as Loyalty.”

Leon, ever Arthur’s greatest ally, bowed to his king in sincerity before sitting. His eye contact never wavered from Arthur’s.

“Sir Percival, take your seat as Honesty.”

Percival smiled and sat down beside Leon. He didn't miss the good natured wink Gwaine sent him.

“Sir Tor, take your seat as Bravery.”

The knight nodded his thanks to Arthur as he slid easily into the wooden chair. He looked up at Sir Morholt in pride.

“Sir Morholt, take your seat as Valor.”

Morholt exchanged a quick smile and nod with Tor as he sat down. His mind raced as he fully realized his place in the prophecies of old.

“Sir Gaheris, take your seat as Intrepid.”

Gaheris, across from his older brother, almost felt tears in his eyes as he sat down. Gwaine nodded in return.

“Sir Gareth, take your seat as Courtesy.”

The youngest knight of Camelot smiled wide as he took his seat. Looking at Gwaine, tears unbidden welled up in his eyes as his thoughts drifted to their deceased mother.

“Fira, take your seat as Faith.”

She dipped her head in respect. Taking her seat, she waited eagerly for the next.

“Merlin, take your seat as Magic.”

Merlin looked at Fira before he bowed deeply to King Arthur. He took his seat at the table graciously. Then he spoke.

“King Arthur, take your seat as Courage,” he said quickly.”

Arthur rolled his eyes but sat down. He looked around and met the gazes of everyone present. Then he looked to his right, where an empty seat sat.

“We leave a seat empty, and call it Hope.” Arthur looked at them again. “For the hope of Camelot.”

“Who will fill it?” Fira asked quietly.

Arthur paused before nodding to himself. “Sir Mordred.”

-*-

And so the Round Table at last came together. But now, as Gwaine looked in the room and found his friends talking quickly to a brown haired man, he froze. For someone sat in the spot of Faith. Someone other than Fira.

“Lancelot?!”

The man in question looked up at Gwaine and smiled. “Sir Gwaine! Good to see you again.”

Gwaine looked at him incredulously. “Good to…? You come back, three years after dying, only to say 'good to see you again’?”

The others laughed at Gwaine’s reaction. Evidently Elyan, Merlin, Arthur, Percival, and Leon found this much more comical than Gwaine. Right then Gwaine's mind still couldn't comprehend what he was seeing.

“I'm sorry.” Lancelot chuckled softly. “It's been a long day, a long few months.”

Gwaine took up a spot next to Merlin. He finally laughed with them, joy in his voice as he spoke again. “I think we could all use drinks.”

“Is that still your solution for everything?” Lancelot shook his head with mirth twinkling in his eyes. “Drink away your sorrows and joys?”

Gwaine smirked. “You got a better plan?”

Lancelot shrugged and shook his head. “It's been a long time since I had good wine. I wouldn't mind some.”

Arthur nodded. “Then you shall have it.”

Merlin rushed out the door and down to the kitchens. He dodged several servants who busily carried lunch to their masters. When he reached the kitchen, he skidded to a halt and grabbed a few serving boys to help carry.

“I need food and the best wine you can find on short notice,” Merlin told the cook. “The King demands it.”

Within ten minutes the boys, led by Merlin, carried platters and trays of food alongside pitchers and jugs of wine to the Round Table. Few besides those who held a seat ever saw it, and the boys eagerly glanced around while serving. But none could read the runes, and soon enough their in had ended. They left, Merlin assuring them he could handle the job from there.

“So, how did you return?” Gwaine asked the obvious question as soon as they sat and began eating.

“I'm not quite sure.” Lancelot sighed, preparing to expertly craft his lie. “Six months ago, a tear opened up between this world and the Otherworld. It offset the balance in the spirit realm enough that I, having been a human in that realm, escaped. I still don't know what caused the tear.”

“I do.” Gwaine looked at him in solemn recognition. “It happened when we were in Somerset.”

“Where did you return?” Elyan studied Lancelot carefully.

“The north. Orkney,” Lancelot said shuddering. “It was bitter cold in the dead of winter. I almost died, and would have if not for the kindness of strangers. I waited out the winter there, and then began the slow journey back to Camelot.”

Merlin grinned. “Thank the gods!”

Lancelot laughed. “Believe me, I've been thanking the old gods and the one God the entire time I've been back.” He looked around at his friends. “For a long time I was afraid I'd be taken back there. It was terrible.” He shuddered.

Suddenly the doors flew open. Guinevere Pendragon rushed inside, holding her dress up so she could move faster. She stopped in amazement and trepidation as her eyes fell on the man she’d once loved.

“Lancelot?”

“My Lady.” The man stood, bowing out of courtesy.

Gwen had none of it. She grabbed him in a hug and kissed the top of his head. She could barely believe her own eyes.

The others chuckled at her reaction. When she stood back from him, she slapped him across the cheek.

Gwen smirked. “That's for dying.”