Gawain's fingers danced absently to his rosary as Mace turned away from him. The points of the crucifix fitted comfortably between his fingers, digging into his skin, offering reassurance. kept his eyes on Mace's face, watching it cycle through shock, confusion and finally calculation. As the captain's expression sharpened, Gawain's stomach sank. Everything he was afraid of was written in the lines of Mace's face.

"Whatever you're thinking Mace..." Gawain said quietly, "no."

He shook his head, keen to emphasise his denial in every way possible. He met the older man's eye, his jaw set determinedly. He wasn't going to be talked into anything. It wasn't up for discussion. He had discussed it with his father in the in between world, in Avalon. He had Arthur's approval, and that was the only kind he wanted, or needed.

"I've been Guy almost as long as I was...here," Gawain insisted, "that's who I am. If you're looking for King Arthur's heir, Mace, he's over there!" He thrust a finger back in the direction of the campfire. "He just needs us to remind him of that. That's what I'm here to do. Nothing else."

Gawain ran his fingers through his hair again, the first signs of frustration, of strain, starting to show on his face.

"And of course I'm going to tell him!" he hissed. "Do you know how long I've waited to see him again? Every day of my life since I was thirteen years old, I've wanted my brother back. Do you have any idea how it felt to see him walk out of those trees? To talk to him?"

He paused, shaking his head. How could he? He couldn't even begin to describe everything he'd felt in that moment; the leap of pure joy when his little brother had told him he liked him, for his own sake.

"There is so much of my father in him, Mace," Gawain insisted, "in the way he moves, the way he thinks, I've only spoken to him for a few minutes and I can see it."

You okay, kid? Altair asked, forcing his words through the growing wave of emotion surging through his fairy's mind. Gawain didn't know; didn't answer. He was torn between laughter, tears and temper.

"What he needs is for you to see it too. Stop thinking about all the ways he isn't Arthur, and focus on all the ways that he is."

He rubbed at the knuckles of his left hand with the palm of his right, scanning the shadows between the trees. He thought of the guards he'd met at the edges of the forest. He'd shown them his ID, they'd presumably taken his name back to the castle. His new identity had been carefully chosen, never truly a fresh start, clues to his past written in every inch of it. Had that been his first mistake?

"And can we talk about why the hell my kid brother smells like a low-rent pub?" Gawain asked, a little hotly. His internal frustrations turning outwards. "Were you going to do something about that, or?"

Guy... Altair said gently, as he appeared from between the trees. The lynx paused staring up at Mace as Gawain fell back against the trunk behind him. The reality of it closed in around him. It was all such a mess. If it had been any other mission he could have taken a step back, could have assessed all the pieces, all the options, and come up with a plan for the best way to proceed.

He sunk down the tree until he was sitting in the leaf litter. Altair settled himself beside him, his solid warmth seeping through his fur.

"I'm sorry, Mace" Gawain said, taking a deep breath as he tipped his head back against the rough bark of the trunk. "It's been a pretty mad couple of weeks."

He dropped his head forwards. "But no one else can know. Because a good chunk of people are going to think exactly like you did. And I can't do that to him. I won't."

Gawain