Gerard shifted comfortably on the large sofa, his head resting in his wife’s lap. One of her four arms lay across him, the others scrolling through something on her tablet; she had long since given up on hiding her form. There was little point when generations of soldiers had seen her flying into battle. Rhydian and Samuel lounged on their usual armchairs, sipping wine and watching the traffic below the balcony, the speeding lights gold against the darkness.

“Patience, love, put it down; there’s nothing we can’t get back to tomorrow,” Gerard said, not for the first time. She made a non-committal noise. “In a moment. I have received a message from the First Most High Negotiator of the Divine Legion; they are threatening trade embargoes again if we do not sign the treaty they have proposed.”

Samuel pulled out his phone, glancing at the message. “Well that’s not going to happen. We’ve already renegotiated the damn thing three times; when are they going to get into their heads that 57% is ridiculous?”

“Probably never,” Rhydian smiled. “Why would they stop being arrogant warmongers after all this time? They’ve had a century to lick their wounds since last time; we’re about due again.”

“Mm. Remember how long it took to get a version of the Treaty of Versailles that actually worked? Initial drafts wouldn’t have lasted thirty years.” Gerard sat up enough to reach for his wine.

“You’re welcome,” said Samuel. Rhydian threw a grape at him. “We all worked on that, Queen Samuel, you don’t get the credit.” “Guardian!” “You’ll always be Queen to us.”

Without looking up from her tablet, Patience scooped up more grapes and flicked one each at the Knights with pin-point accuracy. Gerard wiped his slightly sticky forehead. “I wasn’t even arguing!” “I couldn’t have you feeling left out.” “Always so considerate.” He kissed her nearest hand.

Rhydian ate the remains of his grape. “How has intake been?” he asked, adjusting the bandage on his hip. He had been leading a team out in Rwanda for the last month after a rogue basilisk; they’d lost three before taking it down, and another two when the thing turned out to have a mate, but both beasts were currently down at the university being turned into valuable materials. “Good; one hundred and seven squires made knight last month. One of them reminded me of Lahav, actually - only about twenty years old, but she has that gleam in her eye when she fights. And she fights dirty.” “Going to be keeping an eye on her, I hope,” Samuel asked. “Of course. Still, she has a lot of potential if she can be steered; she’s top of her class in combat and offensive magic.” He paused. “I do miss him sometimes.” “Lahav? Yes; me too. Still, after what he became… I don’t think we had a choice, really.” “No. Not really.” There’s a moment of silence, then Samuel raised a toast to their fallen comrade, and they sipped their drinks.

“Anyway,” Gerard said, taking Patience’s tablet off her and placing it on the table. “We get to see each other so rarely these days, all together like this and not at a conference…”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s been what, three years since the last time?” Samuel said. “It’s nice to just catch up. Rhydian, how’s Bloduewedd?” “She’s in her regrowth period at the moment, so I won’t see her for another year or two yet.” “Ah, of course - I hope you’ll stay with us for a while instead? It would be nice to see you,” said Gerard, refilling their glasses. “A week, maybe - I heard a rumour about some drownings in Ireland…” “Gerard can send some knights,” Samuel pointed out. “You don’t have to do *all* of it yourself.” Gerard nodded. “Besides, Arthur said he was hoping to get to see his uncles while you were both here.”

The door opened, interrupting what Rhydian was about to say, and Gerard’s son Arthur appeared as though summoned by the conversation. He held out a red-faced, howling toddler. Patience, Samuel and Rhydian recoiled. “Father? She won’t stop crying - I wouldn’t ask, but it’s been an hour already and you know how little sleep Sam’s had this week. Uncles, Mother - sorry about this.” The child was being rocked in Gerard’s arms before Arthur had said three words, and instantly quieted and began gumming his shirt. “Of course,” Gerard said, pushing himself to his feet. He placed a kiss on Patience’s forehead, smiled an apology to the others, and followed his son out of the room.

This only differs from canon in that the GMs never thought Lahav did anything bad enough to warrant killing. Then again, the GMs are not good moral arbitrators.