Grayle sat on the floor in the nursery having dinner with his cousin, a multitude of dolls and various invisible people. As he sipped an imaginary drink from a small pewter mug, the little girl giggled with delight and smiled at him.

He'd not long been out of his sick bed, but had decided to go for a walk, fed up with being cooped up in one small room. After wandering the corridors of the castle he'd ended up outside the nursery, where his cousin Anna was playing happily with some toys. After introducing himself to the girl's nurse he started talking to the princess who had immediately coerced him into playing all sorts of inventive games, usually involving him doing most of the work while she supervised.

She leaned over to top up his mug and looked up at him, her small face delighted at having someone new to play with.

Suddenly she stopped, her gaze fixed on the doorway behind him.

"Izz," she said pointing. "Izz".

Grayle looked around and saw Iseult standing in the doorway, her arms full of toys.

He stood up swiftly but awkwardly, his wounds causing him to wince, and bowed to Iseult, his face a mask of pain.

As he staggered, she dropped the toys on the floor in an untidy heap and ran swiftly to him, steadying him with an arm across his shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his eyes downcast and unable to look at her face.

"Sorry? Why?"

Anna sat on the floor between them looking bemused, but watching with interest.

"You should never have had to see that, I lost control, I turned into a raving beast, I...."

"...saved me," she finished for him.

She ran a hand through his hair and he lifted his head at the touch. As his eyes met hers, she smiled at him and he lost every sense he possessed, utterly enthralled by her gaze.

"Ewww," said Anna a few seconds later, followed shortly afterwards by "Mummy!"

Grayle and Iseult hurriedly broke the kiss, both flushing red to the roots of their hair as they turned to see Guinevere standing in the doorway with an amused expression on her face, her daughter standing in front of her with a disapproving frown.

"They were kissing mummy," she said grumpily. "He was playing with me, but then she turned up and ruined the game."

Iseult fled from the room, muttering apologies, leaving a beet red Grayle to face his aunt and cousin alone.

"Um, I, er....," he began.

Guinevere walked over and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "Silly boy," she murmured. "Go after her, now. I'll look after Anna."

He threw her a look of gratitude and made his way after Iseult as quickly as his wounds would allow.

The next few days for Grayle were a mixture of painful recuperation and utter bliss as he walked with Iseult around the gardens surrounding Camelot.

Anna was a constant and suitably irrepressible chaperone, running rings around the two moon-eyed youngsters. Occasional cries of "Eww, disgusting," or "not again!" were heard by amused courtiers and castle staff as the three companions wandered vaguely around the grounds.

It all stopped on the third day, however, as the weather changed. Grayle and Iseult were sitting in a secluded part of the gardens, sheltered by high hedges and willow fencing. As usual, they were talking quietly, heads together, watching in amusement as Anna marshalled her toys to order in the grass. Grey clouds were scudding overhead, and the skies were darkening and full with the promise of rain.

"I think we'd better get her inside," sighed Iseult looking at the sky.

"Aye, I think you're right," said Grayle, starting to rise. He had improved markedly over the last few days, his wounds healing fast, the bruises colouring a broad array of patterns on his skin.

"Will you agree to do something for me Grayle?"

"Anything, my Lady," he said holding out his hand and helping her to her feet.

She smoothed her dress and looked him in the eye.

"I want you to teach me how to defend myself. Teach me to use a bow, a knife, anything. I do not want to end up helpless again."

"You were hardly helpless Iseult," he said smiling gently.

"Don't," she said sharply. "You were not the one being mauled and handled, you were not the one being slobbered over like some cheap whore."

She stopped, tears in her eyes, and moved close to hug him. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I didn't mean to take it out on you, that wasn't fair."

"It's okay, and you are right. I should not have made light of the situation. I will teach you whatever you wish me to teach you, but I think I should ask my aunt teach you archery. She will be able to instruct you far better than I. I'm not sure how you shoot a bow with, um... I mean..."

Grayle eyes had dropped to her chest briefly, and he flushed and stepped away from her in embarrassment.

Iseult laughed at his confusion, kissing him on the cheek. "I will ask Guinevere how to shoot a bow with womanly attributes in place," she said primly. "In the meantime, I suggest you shush before you dig yourself into a deeper hole."

He smiled shyly, Anna tutting at them and muttering "nasty" under her breath repeatedly.

As they started to collect Anna and her various playthings, they were interrupted by a castle guard, who moved quietly into the small grassed area. He bowed, and approached, moving around a small pile of gardening tools, and the curious Anna.

He addressed Iseult. "My Lady, you and Princess Anna are requested to meet Queen Guinevere in her quarters."

Iseult sighed. "Come on then princess," she said, as Anna stood and gathered her last few toys. "I'll see you later," she said to Grayle, who bowed to Iseult and Anna, and smiled.

As the two moved away, Grayle looked at the man more closely. As with most of the palace guards, he was a hard-looking man of average build, and obviously a veteran, but a small nagging voice inside him seemed to be saying there was something wrong. He frowned, watching the small group walk away from him.

"Do I know you guardsman?" he asked, trying to buy his brain some thinking time.

The man stopped and turned. "I don't think so, my Lord. Perhaps you've seen me around the palace," he said, bowing his head again briefly, turning once more to go after Iseult and Anna.

As he did, the long scabbard he carried caught one of the gardening tools, causing rake to clatter to the ground. He was armed with a non-standard sword. All the guards carried short swords, but this man had a hand and a half sword.

"Iseult!" he shouted. "Take Anna, run!"

The man cursed and drew his sword, chasing after Grayle who was running as best he could towards the gap in the hedge where Iseult had disappeared with the princess, his swiftness hampered by his wounds.

Grayle's peripheral vision caught the swing of an incoming sword, and he ducked and rolled, his wounds screaming at him. He landed with a clatter amongst the gardening tools and came to his feet with a rake held like a quarterstaff in front of him. As his attacker swung in another sword blow, Grayle deflected it, drove the barbed end of the rake into his attacker's stomach, then whipped the other end across the man's head, knocking him cold. Stopping only to grab the false guard's sword, he ran after Anna and Iseult.

A child's shrill scream sounded from his left, and he dove through another gap in the hedge, barrelling into another phony guard, and knocking him off balance as the man prepared to deal a blow to Iseult, who was hunched protectively over Anna.

Grayle faced two men, the bastard sword he'd taken from his previous foe held two-handed and ready.

Lightning flashed, and rain abruptly pelted into their eyes. Both men attacked and Grayle parried desperately, driving an elbow into the face of one attacker as he twisted aside. Dancing away from the men, he went on the offensive and ran at them, sword weaving between the two blades of his attackers as he desperately fought to get past their defences. As he did, one of the men punched out, catching him in his ribs, splitting stitches and re-opening a wound. Pain lanced through him, and he gasped in agony, blood seeping through his clothing as he clamped a hand to the damaged area, bending over the wound in reflex. The men advanced swiftly, feral grins on their faces as they realised their quarry was injured. One of the men was stopped in his tracks as a rock caught him in the side of the face, and Iseult desperately cast around for something else to throw.

"Bitch!" said the man and wiped at a stream of blood from his cheek, lifting his sword to attack Iseult.

In a sudden fury of storm, rain and metal, Arthur arrived, his first sweeping blow of Excalibur decapitating the man who faced Iseult, the swift reverse swing forcing the other to retreat rapidly. Grayle slumped gratefully to the ground beside Iseult who now held the soaked and weeping Anna to her breast, shielding the child's eyes from the onslaught of the angry monarch who swiftly battered his remaining opponent to the ground. Gasping, injured and breathless, the man dropped his sword and knelt in submission before the full fury of Arthur. Incandescent with rage, Arthur smashed the hilt of his sword to the man's head, knocking him cold, and ran to his daughter who sobbed and clung to him.

He looked at Iseult. "Can you get Grayle inside?" he shouted over the roar of the storm.

She nodded mutely, still awed at the intense battle fury of the king, who lifted his daughter and ran towards the safety of the castle, carrying Excalibur loosely in one hand.

Later, with the storm still raging outside, the group sat in the royal quarters; Anna curled up on her father's lap, Guinevere nearby holding her hand. Percival, Grayle, David and Iseult were also present, enjoying the warmth of the flickering fire.

Arthur looked up from his daughter and gave the freshly bandaged Grayle and Iseult a warm look.

"Thank you, my friends," he said. "You have prevented a tragedy, and saved our child. We are eternally in your debt.

"Tomorrow, we will meet more formally to discuss the upcoming mission to Silbury, but tonight is a moment for informality, for family, newfound friends, and miscellaneous knights." Arthur glanced at Percival and smiled warmly.

"You have come a long way from when I first met you, my friend. Then, you were the callow youth; fast, irreverent, and a canny fighter. Now, it seems your son is taking on the mantle although he seems less inclined to utilising baked goods in his fighting, preferring gardening tools instead I understand."

Percival raised a questioning eyebrow at Grayle.

"The only thing I had handy was a rake father," he noted sheepishly. "But I suppose it's less eclectic than an apple pie."

"It was a meat pie," said Percival aggrieved. "Do we have to bring this up again Arthur? Every time we get together you churn out the same old story. Everyone's heard it before."

"What story?" broke in Iseult. "I haven't heard it. I keep hearing about some fight and a meat pie, but no one has ever told me what was going on. Grayle said Arthur told the story best though."

"Traitor," muttered Percival shooting Grayle a dark look.

"Well, if the lady wants to hear a story, who am I to disappoint?" said Arthur grinning broadly.

"Oh shades," muttered Percival.

The group settled back in their seats, and Arthur's rich baritone rose above the crackling of the flames and fury of the storm outside as he slipped into memory.