The mild spring sun was climbing the sky as Elyan and Gawaine thundered into the outskirts of Camelot, their rounceys kicking up soil from the poor dirt roads. Sometimes fiercely competitive, the two knights were presently content to ride shoulder to shoulder, each maintaining a swift trot that sometimes burst into a canter, neither rider pulling ahead, but neither yet allowing himself to fall behind. The reason for their restraint was apparent from the sweaty flanks of their horses, the braces of fresh game that bulged from their saddlebags, and their own soiled vestments.

Though Elyan had grown up with that distrust of knights found among commoners with more pride than wealth, he could not deny there were certain advantages to the post conferred upon him by Arthur. Not so long ago, he could never have dreamt of owning a mount like this, it being worth many times even a prosperous merchant's yearly income. And now, the blacksmith's son who had been more at home shoeing warhorses than riding them, or tempering longswords than duelling with one, was sallying out of castles before dawn to divert himself by hunting in the woods. If he weren't careful he would soon be writing poetry on the comeliness of some Norman wench's nose and eyebrows, and then there would be no hope for him.

While he esteemed the company of all his brothers who had been knighted by Arthur at the Round Table, Elyan often went riding with Gawaine, for the Eireian knight's affable manner, good humour, empathy for the lowborn, and self-conscious cynicism towards his own knighthood, made him especially dear to Elyan's heart. Indeed, Gawaine had greatly aided Elyan in improving his skills in riding, swordplay, etiquette, and hunting with hawk and hound. While Elyan possessed the strength of sinews that had once worked the bellows in his father's forge, and knew how to fight like a man-at-arms, he had never heretofore known the art of swordcraft as practiced by the chevaliers.

Gawaine had also professed ignorance of these subjects before his knighthood, and Elyan mostly believed him, for he had seen Gawaine's poverty and manner of living before that fateful night they first retook Camelot. And yet, the speed with which Gawaine had mastered these knightly talents, together with the subtle eloquence that lay behind his rough speech, and the dignified carriage that was concealed within his rough vagrant's charm like a silk lining sewn into a shabby cloak, had given Elyan cause to wonder about the other knight's childhood, concerning which he seldom volunteered any facts. It was not uncommon for persons whose fortunes had risen or fallen to conceal their pasts, particularly when that upheaval had been violent.

"Look at us now!" laughed Gawaine, as they approached the great walls of the city, the small farmsteads around them long having given way to even smaller and more densely packed huts. "A couple of ne'er-do-wells who couldn't have scraped together enough copper for an old donkey. And now we ride for the court of Camelot, mounted like a couple of kings, soon to be made the equals of those haughty barons and sour-faced old duchesses!" And indeed Gawaine, with his dark mane flying in the wind, and scarlet cloak streaming behind him, looked more the part of a king than many true regents in all of Albion.

As they passed through the great gates and trotted into Lowtown, the guards waving them through with naught but a salute, throngs of people parted before them. Knights were no rare sight in Camelot, yet many of the common folk stopped to watch, some with wonder and awe in their eyes, others with wariness. Elyan much preferred the latter. The former were like flocks of sheep gazing in awe at wolves that roamed among them. For most of his life Elyan had been one of those unfortunates down below with weatherbeaten faces, drab clothes and desperate eyes. Astride his bay horse, he felt unnaturally far above them, like a mountain peak jutting out of a sea of foaming misery. It pricked his conscience, and not for the first time, he wondered what effect it wrought on the minds of knights born, to be so far elevated above the masses they ruled, both physically and spiritually. May I never forget what it is to be scrounging down there for a scrap of old bread, he thought.

Yet today he should push those thoughts out of his head. Would not today show, of all days, how true Arthur was in his intentions to drag Camelot towards his own vision, unwilling though she might be? Hadn't the king courted a serving girl and made commoners his most intimate friends and brothers-in-arms, preferring their companionship over the love of nobles many times fitter in birthright, estate, and influence? Hadn't he incurred the wrath of his own kin and courtiers to assert that nobility could be discerned not merely by examining one's pedigree, but by studying one's character?

Elyan's father had toiled his whole life to forge lance and plate that the law forbade him to wear, reserving them for men of better birth. A lifetime of blistered, soot-blackened hands, fingers gnarled from overwork, a stooped back, lungs that coughed up inhaled vapour, eyes runny from fumes, and the reward for all these: a modest home leased from a grasping landlord, and a life of drudgery for his daughter. Meanwhile the fruits of his honest labour, cartload of sword after shining sword, had been taken up to the armouries of the proud lords who earned this tribute by sitting idle in silks, playing at war games, and riding the countryside in search of romantic adventures.

Today Elyan would irrefutably receive the right to bear those arms his father had crafted but never worn. Surely that was a thing worth celebrating. Lowtown certainly seemed to think so, the markets even busier than was usual on ceremonial occasions. Traders plied a brisker commerce than they had in months, mummers and musicians amused the crowds, flags bearing the king's crest flew from most every hand, while gay decorations hung from rooftops and battlements. The scent of hot food, flowers, ciders and ales overpowered even the stench of livestock, manure and refuse. The clamour was so loud Elyan almost wished for his helmet.

As he guided his gelding through one of the many gates that sectioned the city, a blast of wind carried a sharper note through the cacophony and to his ears. Turning his horse sharply, he sent it trotting a few paces in the direction the noise had come from. He saw people spilling into the main street up ahead as if retreating before something, heard the din of raised voices.

"Gawaine!" he said sharply. Gawaine wheeled round.

"What is it?"

"Come with me. Something feels wrong."

They quitted the main road and began easing their horses through the smaller lanes that branched off it. Here in Midtown, the walkways were broader and paved with cobblestone, the houses of larger size and better quality, and yet once they left the main road they quickly found themselves on narrow and twisting paths, with pedestrians forced to the sides as their horses walked single file. It was not long before they found the source of the commotion.

A score of townsfolk had attacked a house, forcing its inhabitants out into the street. The assailants were mostly men, ranging in age from early youth to middle age, and by their shabby clothing they were menial workers wealthy enough to live in Midtown, but unable to command the income of higher guildsmen or traders. They wielded an array of weapons: staves, torches, farming implements. Two city guards stood almost between them and the objects of their rage, but positioned some way back, as if they had initially intervened and then reconsidered it. Elyan understood why when he saw who the victims were.

They were Beyn Avrami.

They numbered three, an older gentleman together with a youth and maid who looked to be his kin, for they shared the same cast of feature, handsome and intellectual, yet with a touch of the outlander about them. The old man must have been cast violently down into the street by the mob, for his attractive oriental garb was torn and befouled, his countenance battered, and his two kinfolk were now supporting him, one under each arm. The young man had a dagger strapped to his waist, but he had not drawn it, his face turned beseechingly to the crowd. His female companion's face was set in a fierce mask, eyes blazing.

The arrival of the knights interrupted the shouting and advancing of the mob, and the younger Avramite, looking relieved, took advantage of this break to raise his voice and resume his remonstrations to his assailants.

"Brothers and sisters, come to your senses! You know we have committed no crime! Let these companions of the Round Table bear witness to your actions! Leave us in peace, and we swear we shall seek no retribution for the wrongs done here today!"

"Brothers and sisters?" cried one from the crowd. "You dare name yourself our kin, unbelieving dog?" A rumble of fresh outrage reverberated through the malcontents, who began to drift forward again.

"In the name of the King, what is going on here?" shouted Elyan. The crowd halted once more. Gawaine, who was not always the most observant student of people, but who had been alerted by the 'unbelieving dog' slur, drew closer to Elyan and spoke in a low voice.

"Go carefully, Elyan. Discretion is the better part of valour."

"I've never known you to walk by when someone is in need, Gawaine."

"Aye, not in my own cloak, but we're wearing the king's red. His policy hasn't been popular of late; we ourselves are a provocation. I worry about the consequences for Arthur if the king's knights are seen to champion a people loved less than sorcerers are. Perhaps this is a matter for the guards."

"The guards are doing nothing."

A man with straw-coloured hair, solidly built and holding a quarterstaff, stood forth. "If it please you, Sir Knight, we are but enforcing the king's law. These Avramites are allowed to dwell in their quarter in the Lowtown, thanks to the tolerance of His Majesty and the Archbishop. But of late they have grown bold, perhaps due to the passage of the late King Uther, and they have dared to make their homes in other parts of the city. They seek to gainsay the Archbishop's edict."

"King Arthur granted us the right to make our home here!" cried the young Beyn Avrami, his comely face flushed. "He vowed to loosen our legal bonds and increase our freedom of movement in exchange for our services! We had a contract with the Crown. We showed you copies of the king's seal, but you destroyed them!" He sounded disgusted that someone would tamper with a legal document.

"A cunning forgery!" said the straw-headed man. "We know what deceits you people are capable of working! Did you think a piece of paper would protect you from us? And what services could you have rendered the king that you could ensnare him in your dishonest contracts and your evil wiles?"

"I'll tell you, sirrah," cried the female Avramite, her expression blank and voice awful. For a slightly built woman, she had a powerful voice."When Camelot burned in dragonfire, and your own merchants fled the city, who provided the coin to lay new stones, repair the gates, fund your hospices and import grain to sow your scorched fields? When an army of the dead marched on Camelot and your own guildsmen took flight, whose coin supplied fresh horses, bought steel for the forge, made bolts for your crossbows and found provisions for your knights? When Morgana and the king's traitorous uncle sacked this city, and other traders perished or fled, who rebuilt your marketplace, and replenished the king's coffers, and hired fresh bondsmen to work your fields and man your businesses?

"For all that you call us dishonest usurers, we toil at our craft as hard as any of you, and we have risked and bled much for this city. Aye, and we keep our oaths, and are bound by our word, and we honour the contracts we sign, which is more than can be said for the likes of you!"

"Devra, hold thy tongue!" said the young man beside her. "Pay her no heed, her anger outstrips her judgement."

The straw-headed man's countenance burned fiery red. "You think yourself so generous for returning coin which you plundered from the hands of honest Nazarins! That money was drained from your victims, as a blood-sucking tick drains a sheep, only the tick is not so brazen as to loan the blood back to its host at interest! Dare to speak to me like that again, infidel wench, and I'll teach thee courtesy at the butt of my staff!"

"Enough!" Elyan spurred his horse forward and Gawaine followed suit, the two of them placing themselves between the disputing parties. "This matter is easily resolved. If you have some doubt about their right to live here, any deeds and contracts are lodged at the courts. This dispute can be handled through consulting an officer of the law, not brawling on the street. As it happens, I can vouch for at least one of their claims. King Arthur did pass a number of reforms, including lessening the restrictions on where citizens may live."

"Of course he did," muttered Gawaine. "What a time for the king to find love in his heart for the less fortunate. Maybe you could shout it a little louder, the mob hasn't grown large enough." Despite his grumbling, Elyan knew that Gawaine would never back down from a fight, and one where he could thumb his nose at authority while being forced to take on unreasonable odds was as irresistible to him as poppy tea to an opium-eater.

"It's not just a matter of where they live," a woman spoke up. "Tell him about the sorcery! We've had nothing but strange goings-on since they moved in, and our children have disappeared! They take our babes for their rites, they're in league with the Old Ways!"

"What evidence have you that they practiced sorcery?" demanded Elyan. "This is a very serious accusation."

"Sir," said the straw-haired man, "Beca's little boy Cled disappeared not two months back, and just a week ago the same thing happened again. This time it was Reece's son. And three nights ago the Avramites painted the lintel of their door with blood. Look! They practice blood magic and necromancy in the open!"

"It's lamb's blood, you fool!" shouted the woman named Devra. "If we practiced the dark arts, why would we advertise it to all and sundry who passed our house? And if we could bend the forces of nature to our will and lay a curse upon our neighbours, why would we suffer to live amongst you?" Her brother tried to silence her again, to little avail.

"These charges make little sense," said Elyan. "These are dangerous times. Any number of things could have happened to your children. Do you really want a return to the days of Uther, when neighbour turned against neighbour, and the innocent burnt at the stake? Do you want to live in fear as brother accuses brother over a missing child, a lame horse, a spoilt crop, an evil glance?" Elyan felt nothing but disgust for these people, and for the first time since his elevation to knighthood, he truly felt apart from them, and the mean, ignorant lives they led. They truly had deserved Uther, a king as bitter and hate-filled as any of them.

Turning to the two guards, Elyan addressed them. "See to it that this crowd disperses! There will be no harrying of the innocent in Camelot while Arthur sits on the throne."

The guards did not look to be in a hurry to defend the Avramites. "But what of their tenancy?" asked one. "They have no papers. They claim they were destroyed."

"You will protect them until one of their neighbours brings a case against them and their tenancy is decided in a court of law."

The guards looked from the three lone Avramites to the large crowd of armed troublemakers who surrounded them, as if weighing up who to move on.

"There has been an accusation of sorcery… their neighbours are willing to bear witness. We will have to hold them until an investigation has been completed." As the guards stirred towards the three Avramites, Elyan dismounted and stood betwixt them and their quarry.

"That is enough," said Elyan. "This is no longer a matter for the city watch. I have made it a knightly concern. If you insist on taking them into the castle, I will personally escort them to guarantee the safety of their personages. Gawaine! This spectacle is over. End it."

Gawaine also dismounted, and drew his sword, brandishing it in long sweeps. "You heard the man. Move along, or I'll have to encourage you. Don't make me do that."

Frightened by the knight's display of power, the mob broke up and began to slink away.

"Say what you will about Uther, but in his time knights were nobly born, and knew their duty," said the straw-headed man softly. His eyes burned, but he turned and melted back into the streets with his companions. From high overhead, the peals of the great kirk bells rang out, toiling the terce.

"Three more hours before the ceremony," said Gawaine. "All we had to do was go hunting, unwind, keep our heads down." He kept watch with Elyan while the distraught Beyn Avrami gathered up their things, shuttered what they could of their damaged house, and put themselves in the custody of the guards.


A/N: This is kind of a crackfic. I loved the actors and characters in Merlin, so I wanted to play in this world, but I also wanted to include all my personal passions and cram them in together. The characterisation may be way off. Things may deviate from what you know or expect radically. I do want to add some Arthurian lore in there but it's all experimental at this stage. The timeline of this world doesn't quite make sense because Camelot is a kind of Norman French romantic vision, but also the Germanic and Celtic elements strongly exist in Britain at the same time, along with Norsemen, and maybe the Romans existed in living memory but maybe their empire was actually lost centuries ago? Anyway don't think too hard about it.

I haven't nailed the register yet. I started out writing the narrative voice in a formal, archaic tone, and was going to have the actual dialogue be more natural and modern like that on the show. But as you can see I switched back and forth a few times. Also not sure if this takes place at the end of Season 4 or Season 5 or in between.

No idea how quickly I'll update. I have a rough plan for this story, so I'm optimistic that it may be the first one I'll ever finish, but there probably will be several weeks between updates. Can't promise anything coherent, I'm just having fun, sorry. Also I like the spelling Gawaine better than Gwaine, deal with it.