A/N: Finally back from vacation, so enjoy an update!

Chapter Four

Campfires

"Why can't I go?"

Geralt stood with his arms folded, a pout on his face and a glare in his eyes. His brown hair messily fell about his cheeks. Cheeks red as cherries revealed how tired the boy felt. Gwaine had accidentally woken him up when he left their chambers early that morning.

"Because this is a mission," Gwaine tried to explain to his son, crouching down. "And you're too young."

Geralt rolled his eyes and stomped his foot. "I can already beat Jon at swords."

Gwaine smirked. "I know, and that makes very proud." He paused. "But you're six, and I bet your mum would kill me if I brought you."

"Mum took Clarissa to a council meeting the other day," Geralt pointed out. "That's her work. Take me to yours!"

Gwaine groaned and hung his head. Finally he met his son's gaze again. "Geralt, if I leave with you, who will be here to keep your brother out of trouble?"

It was Geralt's turn to groan. "Gingalain's always getting into trouble. I can't help that!"

"He's two, and he needs his brother to show him the ropes," Gwaine insisted, placing a hand on Geralt's shoulder. "Okay?"

Geralt glared at him but relented. "Fine."

"Good." Gwaine smirked. "I'll bring you back something from the village. If Mum isn't around, find Sir Mark or Sir Michael okay?"

Geralt's eyes lit up. He nodded and Gwaine shook his son's hand in the traditional knightly way. He stood back up and made his way through the citadel to the stables. There he found the others already waiting.

"Late as usual," Fira said with a smirk. "Galahad owes me five gold pieces."

"Come on, Gwaine," Galahad whined. "Why do you always have to be late. One of these days you must be on time."

Gwaine laughed as he took Gringolet's reins from his servant Erik. He hoisted himself up. "Geralt wanted to come."

Percival chuckled lightly. "He always does."

"One of these days you should take him to see Camlann," Tristan suggested as he wheeled around Passelande, his brown mare. "It isn't far, and he knows all about that battle I'm sure."

"He obsessed with it," Gwaine bemoaned. The he stared straight at Fira. "And someone encourages it."

"His father was a great warrior that day," she teased.

They cantered down the city streets. The sun had only just risen, but already townsfolk bustled about, making way for the horses. Bakers and seamstresses called out their prices in the market while the group passed by. Fira waved to a couple young girls whom she knew. They waved back excitedly, glad to see their favorite sorceress.

The village of Rylincroft was situated two days from Camelot City if they moved quickly. Gwaine and Percival led them out, the two friends talking together most of the trip. Elyan, Galahad, and Tristan took up the middle, making jokes at the latter's expense regarding Iseult the barmaid. But Fira hung back, quiet upon Aland. She remained content to watch and listen.

As they rode, the sky above changed from the light yellow of dawn, to the azure of midday, and finally to the darkness of night. Gwaine called a halt inside the forest as night fell fully. They built a fire which Fira lit. They settled down to sleep, having eaten several hours earlier. Percival and Fira took first watch.

"I'll never get over how pleasant the calm of a forest at night is," she murmured quietly as she sat next to Percival.

The knight nodded as he tossed another branch into the fire. "It's nice. Definitely better than the bustle of the castle."

"Can't argue with you there," she said with a smile. Then her face fell as memories pressed in. "It's been ten years since I left the druids. Ten years since the forest was my home, and that bustle of the castle became my life."

Percival smirked. "I can hear Gwaine now-"

"That's because he's snoring."

"No, I mean, I bet if he was awake he'd say something over dramatic like… 'well at least you found us, and you'd be lost without us!'" Percival smiled up at the sky between the branches as he waited for her to respond.

Fira chuckled. "You sounded just like him there."

"Yeah well, when you spend as much time with him as I do," Percival trailed off.

She nodded. "You're not wrong there, either. All three of their kids find my impression of 'hungry Gwaine' to be hilarious."

Percival grinned and perked up for a moment. "You do that one? They wouldn't tell me who did that one. My favorite Gwaine impression is 'drunk Gwaine'. Lorie and the kids get a kick out of that one too."

Fira stifled a laugh, trying to keep from waking the others. "I bet your drunk Gwaine is amazing."

With smiles on their faces, the two sentinels returned to silence. Fira allowed herself a few moments on her back, looking up at the stars she could glimpse between the canopy of tree branches. She shifted where she lay, a memory unbidden coming to the forefront.

"Percival, do you remember when we and Gwaine joked about destiny being written in the stars?" She spoke to the man beside her, though she continued to stare upwards.

Percival nodded in confusion. "Yes. On the way to Somerset. Why?"

"For some reason I feel like fate is leading us towards adventure and danger again," Fira murmured. "And I got that feeling when I saw the stars just now."

Percival shrugged. "Maybe. Danger seems to follow us like a horse to water."

She snorted humorlessly. "You're not wrong there." Her eyes turned to her missing hand. It stayed a constant reminder of what she'd lost: friends and family.

Percival noticed immediately. He refrained from staring at her, but posed a question quietly. "Do you still get ghost pain?"

"Sometimes." She nodded. "You'd think after seven years, it'd have gone away. But no."

They sat in silence for a while longer. Eventually their shift came to an end, much to both of their reliefs. Fira woke Galahad while Percival woke Gwaine. As the two new guards took up their spots, Fira and Percival drifted off to sleep.

"So, what do you think this quest is going to be like?" Galahad posed the question later into their shift. "Any guesses on what we'll run into this time?"

"I don't think it'll be hard," Gwaine insisted, to which Galahad gave a snort of disbelief. "We're investigating a plague. Nothing more."

"A magical, Perilous Lands-created plague," the other knight pointed out.

Gwaine shrugged. "We're going to be fine."

Elsewhere in Britannia

"People are dying! And I can save them."

Blanchefleur stood in the throne room of Castle Graal. Around her, banners flying the light blue of Listinoise fluttered in the breeze of the open windows. Night was falling but King Pellinore sat still in his throne of white marble. Beside him, his sons Dornar and Aglovale leaned on his throne, watching their younger sister critically.

Fleur's face betrayed how furious and exasperated her remaining family made her. But when her father spoke, she drew herself in fury.

"People of Camelot are dying. That is not our problem," Pellinore reminded her. "I will not have you using the Grail to heal strangers. Especially when you wouldn't use it to heal your own mother!"

Fleur stood in silence. Her black dress floated about her feet in the gentle breeze. Grey-blue eyes filled with tears. She closed them for a moment, then opened them once more to speak.

"I did not heal my mother because she died of old age." She drew herself up. "I speak not of healing the people of Camelot, but the source of the plague that infects them!"

"You lack the magic," Aglovale argued, speaking for the first time. "You'd need a sorcerer greater in power than you possess. Or the combined power of several."

"Then send me with someone," she quipped. "It shouldn't be hard to find someone willing to restore our former homeland."

"No!" Pellinore stood from his throne, rage in his elderly face. "You will not help Camelot. Do you hear me, queen-slayer?"

Fleur flinched at the insult. She looked to her brothers. Aglovale at least had the courage to look upon her with pity, while Dornar merely stood with a blank expression.

Without a bow, Fleur turned on her heels and marched from the throne room. She stormed up the stairs to the chambers she occupied, before slamming the door behind her. Her father was an old man with grudges so long he couldn't remember all the details.

People were dying because of her father's stubborn avarice. And she intended to do something about it.