Gawain said nothing. He stared down at the forest floor, torn between anger, anguish and guilt. He'd made a mess. He'd well and truly fucked everything up. He felt Altair shift beside him. His lynx pressed his head against his chest, a reassuring purr vibrating through him. Gawain moved his hands, burying his fingers in his familiar's fur. He lowered his legs a little so Altair could rest his head in his lap.

Its okay, Altair thought kindly, we can fix this. We will fix it, I promise.

This was supposed to have been the easy part. It didn't fill Gawain with much hope that the next part, the part where he actually had to look Tristan in the eye and tell him the truth, was going to go an awful lot better. He'd known it was going to be hard, ever since his father had told him what he needed to do, had expected denial and anger and upset, but not from other people. His every thought had been focused on one person. And that, he supposed, had been his first and biggest mistake.

He winced at Mace's barb about the night of Arthur's murder. To have it referred to so bluntly, to have it thrown at him like a weapon, physically hurt. Altair lifted his head, his purr becoming a growl.

"Mace..." he warned, glancing between him and the reappeared Josephine with a reproachful expression, "that's enough."

Gawain had no idea where he'd been, because he didn't know when it had happened. There hadn't been time for details, for questions, and the strange place protecting his father's soul had left him with very little space to wonder. He'd dropped everything. Once he'd been well enough to stand after Scout had shocked him back into his body, he'd started to pack. He'd found his way to Alliance HQ on earth and pulled in a favour to get in touch with Mallos. He'd travelled to Spain, he'd found Mallos' mansion, he'd met the grandfather he'd only ever heard of before, and been dropped into the middle of Shaman, the place he'd dreamed about and yearned for, for years. And it hadn't been the Shaman he remembered.

"What would you have had him do, Mace?" Altair asked, "you weren't exactly in the kind of mood that encourages confidences, especially not for something as big as this. We didn't know Tristan would turn up in person that soon. What should he have done, introduce himself as the king's brother in front of everyone around that campfire?"

Gawain only half-heard him. Everything was different, everything he'd expected to be familiar had been alien and strange. And then he'd learned from strangers' gossip that his mother was long-dead too; that she'd gone after him when he'd been taken and had never come home. He'd lost both parents within the space of a week. Tristan was all that was left.

Tristan.

And what was wrong with telling him he was like their father? Gawain could think of no higher compliment.

"I couldn't get back any sooner," he said to his knees, "the people who took me, I don't know what they did, but I have spent the last ten years able to reach every planet in every galaxy, in every universe, except for this one." Gawain shook his head.

"I never expected it to be easy. I don't have some half-baked notion of a happy reunion, I know it's going to be hard. But he's the only family I have left, and from what I've heard since I got here, I'm all he has too."

Gawain broke off, and summoned every ounce of courage he had left to look Mace in the eye.

"And I'm sorry. I am so grateful to you for keeping him alive and for making sure he's not alone, because I've been where he is now and I know how shit it feels to lose our father and our home. But I am not going to let you police what I can say to my brother. I'm not going anywhere."
He pointed back off through the trees towards the camp fire.

"I would die for that kid, Mace. Can't that be enough?"

Gawain