A/N: We all knew it was coming, didn't we? How long before May Glenn writes a plotless H/C for Merlin just for H/C's sake? Apparently, that time is now (actually, had this one for a while, didn't want to post it until now). Tag to the Season Four finale "The Sword in the Stone, Part 2." I didn't think the epi gave enough attention to how badly Morgana abused Gwaine, so here was my take on it.
Warnings: Violence and language.
…
"What took you so long?" Gwaine grinned, clutching at Percival's arm through the bars as he unlocked their cell. He tried to stand, but was unsuccessful on the first go. The last fight Morgana had put him through had been the worst: a free-for-all, which ended embarrassingly because he was normally excellent at those, but the first four fights had served to wear him down enough that this time he actually got hurt…
"We've got to get Gaius to the infirmary," Percival said, hoisting the old man into his arms easily enough. "Elyan, can you…?"
Elyan had already relieved Percy of his sword, and nodded. "I'll cover you."
"Here, give that to me," Gwaine insisted, pointing at the weapon. He wasn't sure why. Maybe he thought he had more fighting to do. Which, of course he did, there was always more fighting to do.
On the other hand, maybe Morgana's champion had hit him with that chair harder than he thought.
"Can you even stand?" Percival asked.
"Here, I'll help you," Elyan added, hauling him to his feet and slinging Gwaine's arm over his shoulder, whether he liked it or not.
At least he could hang on. And he could pretty much hobble along on his own, once they got going and certainly once an encounter with Morgana's guards helped the adrenaline kick in. He even dispatched one of the guards with his bare hands—nothing new for him this past week, although Elyan and Percival looked either impressed or horrified at him. He couldn't quite tell with the one eye swollen shut.
"Okay, this'll have to do," Percival said, as they entered the wine cellar. "We'll send more wounded down here." He laid Gaius down on a table. "I'll see if we can get supplies down here, too. There'll be food and water. Elyan, can I leave them to you?"
Gwaine straightened. "Them? I can look after meself, lads," he insisted, "and Gaius. You go—have fun stormin' the castle." He stifled a cough. "Just leave me a sword."
Elyan pursed his lips, but he couldn't say he wasn't alive today thanks to Gwaine's skill with a sword, so he let it go. "Okay. We'll go get supplies. Just stay quiet in here. We'll get some of the other lads down here soon as we can."
"Go on, boys, we'll be all right," Gwaine pushed them out the door before he dissolved into coughing. Blood came up. Awesome. He swallowed it back. No time.
He found water and food, and woke Gaius up enough to eat and drink a little. The physician was just exhausted, and had a right to be. He was getting too old for this shit.
Hell, Gwaine felt he was getting to old for this shit, if that was an allowable excuse. He'd take any excuse at this point. Any excuse rather than he was being smart, anyway.
The boys returned a few minutes later, with blankets, bandages, and more food and water, and then they ran off again, saying something about a mob of them at the main hall. Behind them a trickle of injured knights made their way in. Gwaine longed to go with Percy and Elyan, and almost did, but his leg twinged just as Sir Balin was calling out for more bandages for his brother. He frowned. He could do more good playing nursemaid here than he could fighting up there. Which pissed him the hell off.
Gaius had even forced himself to his feet now, was staggering around giving orders and doing triage, though he was still obviously weak. Gwaine and Balin and a few others were helping, tying off tourniquets, cauterizing wounds, and resetting broken bones.
"Gwaine, we've got company!" came a shout from the door.
Damn, he should have been guarding!
Gwaine grabbed a sword and ran towards the door, meeting Sir Llwch and Sir Balin there. They barred the door after him, and met their attackers with swords held at the ready.
Unfortunately, the attackers were armed with arrows.
"Get down!" Gwaine shouted, but too late. All three were hit. Llwch was killed instantly. Balin was just grazed. Gwaine snapped the arrow off where it protruded out of his chest, not deep enough to kill (instantly, anyway) as men came at them with swords. Together, the two of them fought them off, but more kept coming. They had the advantage of fighting in a small space, so they only took on two or three at a time. But they couldn't last forever.
"Balin, get out through a window, we need reinforcements. Go get Leon, I'll cover you."
"I won't leave you!" the other knight insisted.
"The hell you will, we need backup. Go!" Gwaine punched one soldier in the face, cut down another, and shoved Balin back through the door behind him. They let him go, thinking Gwaine was easier pickings.
Think again.
…
Sometime later, somewhere not far away in Camelot, Sir Leon followed Sir Balin down to the wine cellar at breakneck speed. Percival was at his heels, slower only because he was shouting curses at himself, telling himself he shouldn't have left them alone, he shouldn't have left Gwaine!
Leon wouldn't ever have said anything, but there should have been a proper guard. But should wasn't really a fair word on the battlefield, and he didn't blame Percival. He only ran faster.
It wasn't a pretty sight, when they arrived. It was with a strange mixture of surprise, horror, and pride that Leon surveyed the corpses of Morgana's guards, hacked to death by what could only have been a very determined Gwaine.
Who was lying unmoving beneath a pile of them.
"Gwaine!" Leon cried, crouching down beside his friend. But, business first. "Pellinore, check on them in there. Amr, post guards: I want a full swordteam down here just guarding, and another helping."
"It's secure, sir," Pellinore said, returning from the room. "They didn't get in."
"Thank God. He did it."
"Of course I did it," croaked a feeble voice pretending to be a badass.
"Gwaine!" He was not only alive but conscious: Thank God!
But only barely. "Percival, help me, here." Percival immediately set to clearing the bodies away, and then gingerly lifted Gwaine and brought him inside, laying him out on his back on a table.
The look on Leon's face spoke volumes as he surveyed his friend's body: God, where to begin? "You're a mess, Gwaine," he breathed. The man was covered in blood!
"Don't worry," Gwaine gasped, forcing a grin, "most of it's not mine." He tried sloppily to bat Leon's prying hands away, though he was obviously much weakened. But it didn't take a physician to realize that Gwaine was having a great deal of trouble breathing. He was wheezing terribly, even when his breaths weren't hitched or didn't come at all.
"Gwaine, don't talk. Small, shallow breaths."
Unfortunately, Gwaine knew exactly what was wrong with him—from experience. He'd been in worse scrapes before, and many was the time he'd been on his own so injured, having only himself to play nursemaid for him. He could deal with this. These boys should be upstairs by Arthur's side. He was fine, he just needed to…
"Blood," Gwaine spat out.
"What?" Leon asked, concerned, confused.
"Blood. Can't…breathe…"
Gwaine realized, sadly, that this time he couldn't get the arrow out himself. He didn't have the strength or the will, and he'd probably pass out halfway through and bleed out. Better to take the hit to his pride and let them in on the secret that he wasn't actually immortal. His arm waved drunkenly until it grasped Leon's hand, and then he guided it to his chest, where the broken arrow was still lodged. Leon felt the problem immediately. His face paled.
"Gaaaaaius!" he called.
Gwaine was really heaving now, his chest working very hard to do very little, broken ribs straining, bringing tears to his eyes. "Side," he gasped. "Perce, help." He was flailing around, struggling to roll over, to let gravity drag the blood out in a last-ditch effort not to drown. Luckily Percival got the idea, helped him shift, though now he, too, could feel bones that weren't supposed to be moving shift under his fingers. But Gwaine breathed easier immediately in this new position; it was even worth it letting Perce get close to him, because the rest of his body went lax now that its most precious need, oxygen, was taken care of.
Gaius was near now, supported by Leon. "Keep hold of him, Percival, tilt his head back. Leon, here, get a tourniquet on that leg wound, he's lost enough blood." Then, leaning forward, the conversation between only the two of them now: "Gwaine? Can you hear me, Gwaine?"
Gwaine titled his head in a slight nod. "Gaius, I—you should rest. I'm fine. The boys can…"
Gaius leaned closer and lowered his voice, almost to a whisper. He gripped the back of Gwaine's neck gently. "You took very good care of us while we were in the dungeons, Gwaine. Now it's my turn to look after you."
He struggled with that a moment, but presently Gwaine nodded shakily and relaxed in a huff of breath, somehow relieved. "Can't—breathe," he gasped out, fear showing briefly through his eyes.
Gaius nodded. "We've got to get that arrow out."
"Bodkin," Gwaine gasped, referring to the arrowhead that was lodged in him—a small, thin, armor-piercing head, which wasn't as bad as it could have been, in the scheme of things.
"Small favors. I take it you've been through this before?"
Gwaine nodded. Not this bad, last time, but he knew more or less what was coming and how much it was going to suck. Literally, in fact.
"Percival, you'll need to hold him. Not yet. Leon, I need you to heat the tip of your dagger until it is very hot. I'll get the poultice ready. And it looks like I'll need forceps to get that out of there," he added, almost accusingly at Gwaine for breaking it off.
Gwaine tried to take shallow breaths, painfully aware that Percival holding him like this could certainly tell how hard and fast his heart was pounding in fear of what was coming. "It's all right," his friend soothed, and Gwaine, for how embarrassed he felt, only nodded.
"I think it's ready, Gaius," Leon called from across the room.
"Good," Gaius said. He didn't wait. He didn't count to three. Gwaine's eyes weren't even open. He just slid the arrow free, leaving a whistling, gaping, painful hole behind. Now Gwaine definitely could not breathe. Like a waterskin with a hole in it, his lungs just simply couldn't fill up. His limbs twitched on their own accord as his mouth opened and shut like a landed guppy, but Percival held him tight.
And then they added pain to it. The burning metal made him want to gasp more, but he still couldn't, not until it was sealed. Hopefully it would seal before everything filled up with blood. And hopefully it would seal all the way through so he wouldn't keep bleeding and coughing it up or drowning in it.
Gwaine nearly blacked out before he could breathe again. Pain wasn't an issue anymore, he was beyond pain. He couldn't see anything but vague, slow-moving shadows. It was like being drunk, except zero fun. But he could breathe. Percival was crying: he knew because he felt drops falling on the side of his head. Now Gwaine was coughing, vomiting, spewing blood, what felt like gallons of it, all over himself and Percy and Gaius.
But he could breathe. The cauterization held. A poultice on top and a tight bandage over that. What happened to him next he could care less, because he could breathe. Gwaine was vaguely aware of voices, of touches, of movement, of activity, of worry—they were even taking his clothes off, which was an outrage though he couldn't exactly fight them on it—but he couldn't even keep his eyes open, much less command his limbs.
"I think he's going into shock, he's lost a lot of blood," Gaius said, peering into one of Gwaine's unfocused eyes and feeling his weak pulse. "He needs water. Keep him warm, and talk to him if you can. Let's roll him onto his back…"
Percy's arms. Leon's words. "Gwaine, can you hear me? Gwaine, you've got to stay with us, all right?"
His brain was fuzzy, like it just didn't care anymore. All it cared about was keeping him breathing.
"Open your eyes, Gwaine, please." Percy sounded just so forlorn, Gwaine managed it.
Percival's face broke into a smile at the sight, as did Leon's.
"Let's get some water in you, you think you can manage that for me?" Leon, giving orders—ones that Gwaine actually wanted to obey for once. He nodded and even let them hold his head while he drank as much as he could without choking. He drank slowly and they didn't stop him. Finally, the cobwebs began to clear a bit, and Gwaine lifted his head.
"The others?" he tried to ask, "The battle?"
"It's all right, Gwaine. Everyone's doing fine, now, no talking. Relax, all right?" Leon insisted, pushing his head back down. Gwaine realized now that he was shivering, cold—and it hurt.
"Here, let's—"
"Yes."
Without even coordinating, Leon and Percival simply lifted the table and moved it closer to the fire. Leon was back with another blanket, and then began to inspect him further. He frowned and called over his shoulder. "Gaius? Can we risk resetting the shoulder if he's like this?"
"Oh, hell," Percival groaned, and Gwaine was glad, because he certainly didn't have the strength to say it.
Gaius raised one eyebrow, scrutinizing Gwaine. "Ask him," he said, and turned back to whatever other poor sod he was working on.
Leon shook his head. "No, we can't risk it. We'll just have to do it later, when—"
"Oh, God, do it now," Gwaine wheezed.
Leon pursed his lips, but nodded. "Okay, on three. Percy, hold him. One, two—"
They never went on three, but Gwaine couldn't keep himself from tensing anyway. Or from crying out. Or from crying.
The lads pretended not to see. "I'll wrap it. We need a splint for his arm, and that leg…"
The world was going white. His head was floating away without him.
"Gonna pass out now," he informed Leon, who nodded and laid a hand on his head, like a blessing, and this escorted Gwaine off to unconsciousness.
…
Gwaine actually woke slowly, which was not the norm for him: he was always either wide awake or fast asleep—or, to be fair, hungover. So that was odd. Also, he hurt all over, but not hungover-hurt, and he couldn't remember why. He seemed to be in a bed. He had been…where?
He blinked. The red-blue blur that was sitting next to him grinned.
"You're awake."
Gwaine groaned. "Nope. Definitely not."
He blinked harder. Merlin. He felt as if he hadn't seen Merlin in weeks, years maybe. That was urgent, somehow—
The castle was captured. Morgana!
Gwaine lurched upright—or perhaps meant to—but his body and Merlin protested at the same time, holding him down. Wide-eyed, he turned to Merlin. "Morgana?"
"Gone," Merlin encouraged.
Gwaine relaxed a fraction. "The castle?"
"Ours again."
Gwaine relaxed a bit more. "Casualties? Merlin, was anyone hurt?"
Merlin nodded, pursed his lips. "A few. We lost Godwin, Balan, a few others."
"Gaius? Is he all right?"
"Yes, he's doing fine, actually. Finally got a full night's rest last night, he's back to normal now. Gwaine, you've really got to relax."
Gwaine took in a shaky breath, nodded, and settled back. Now he wrinkled his brow. "How long was I out?"
"Three days. It was a bit touch and go for a while."
Gwaine nodded. "No wonder I feel like hell." He gave a cursory struggle against the sheets. "When do I get out of here?"
Merlin laughed. "When you can sit up on your own, for starters! Gwaine, you had a hole in your chest the size of my thumb!"
"Yeah, but you're skinny," Gwaine grinned, but "just kidding," he added quickly. He was in the great hall, he realized suddenly, which had been converted to a hospital ward. The morning sun shone in through the windows, bright. "I do feel like hell," he admitted.
"Here, have some water," Merlin more ordered than offered, and helped him lift his heavy head to drink. The water tasted good, felt good.
"Three days, seriously?"
"Yeah. We were pretty worried. Percival would have been here the whole time if Arthur wasn't putting him to work and I wasn't sending him off to bed."
"You'll tell him I'm all right?"
"Of course, Gwaine, I'll make the rounds once you're asleep again."
Gwaine nodded, hating how sleepy he was already. His stomach rumbled, but he wasn't sure he had the strength to chew. "And I want food when I wake up again."
"Bossy-boots."
"Either I get to boss or I'm getting out of this bed and getting it myself, Merlin, your call."
"I'd like to see you try," Merlin giggled, but laid a heavy hand on his shoulder just in case.
"Don't want to sleep," Gwaine complained.
"Sleep, Gwaine, it's all right." In a moment of tenderness, Merlin brushed Gwaine's hair back. "We'll be here when you wake up."
"And when's the wedding?" his voice was little more than a whisper.
"It's not for—hey, how did you know that?"
Gwaine snorted. "Merlin, if Arthur didn't ask her to marry him, I would leave the castle this very minute to go find employment elsewhere."
"No, you wouldn't."
"Would. So would you."
Merlin grinned. "Maybe. Will you sleep now?"
"Look who's the Bossy-boots now!"
"Sleep."
"Fine."
...
A/N: Oh, PS: Please ignore the fact I know nothing about medicine or anatomy. And apologies if I went "overboard"...? I come from Supernatural fandom, where if you're not abusing the characters within an inch of their lives, you're not doing it right (or something like that!): an interesting reflection on different fandoms! Anyway, thanks for reading!