Gwaine lent down to pick up some wood, cursing as his hair fell into his face. It was going to be a long day. He straightened up, wood in his hand. Pushing his hair back, he headed towards the camp. It was just past dawn; nobody else was up. At least, he thought no one was.

A hand clapped him on the shoulder and he bit down a squeal. Turning with the wood held out like a sword, he saw Lancelot creased over with laughter. After hitting him a few times, earning yet more laughs out of the man, he stopped and walked away.

"Awh, don't be like that!" He heard Lancelot call after him. "It was funny."

Gwaine carried on walking, hoping the man would come after him. Sure enough, he did. An arm was slipped around his waist and his mouth was pulled in for a kiss. He let himself enjoy it for a few seconds; then pulled away.

"Idiot. What if they'd seen?!"

Lancelot grinned. The corners of his eyes creased up, making Gwaine want to trace them. Lancelot hugged him briefly, then let go. "Don't be silly. Everyone's asleep. Who's going to see us except the deer?"

Gwaine sighed. Loving men was not easy when you were a knight. Still, he was glad he had found someone to share his love with. He checked the camp again, making sure that everyone was still asleep. Satisfied that they were, he dropped a kiss on Lancelot's forehead and set off for more wood. The shorter man trailed after him for a bit, grew bored and went back to the camp, murmuring something about taking a dip in the river.

-Later that day-

The men had eaten breakfast and packed up. They were now waiting on Merlin, who had somehow managed to drop every last item he owned in the river. Arthur was shouting at him, again. Gwaine took the moment to appreciate how perfect Lancelot looked in the morning light, dappled sunlight shining off his armour. The moment was sadly interrupted by Leon cuffing him round the head and telling him to "Saddle up now you lazy bugger, else we'll never be off."

After a couple hours of riding, during which Arthur and Merlin bickered incessantly about something or other, Gwaine was ready to explode. It was boiling in the armour, he'd run out of water and Arthur and Merlin were doing his head in. He kept quiet about it for a while, but Lancelot must have noticed something, because he called for the knights to stop.

Arthur turned in his saddle, obviously irritated. "What, what's the matter? Why did you call for a halt?"

Lancelot gestured to Gwaine. "Look at him. Something's wrong. And if I know Gwaine, he wouldn't tell us until it's too late."

The knights looked at Gwaine. Normally he cut a strong figure on his brown horse, red cloak billowing out behind him. Not today. Today he seemed deflated somehow, hunched over in pain. His face was pale and slightly sweaty. Arthur gestured for Merlin to get off his horse to go examine Gwaine. Lancelot got off too, concerned for Gwaine. Together they helped him down from the horse.

"Where does it hurt?" Merlin asked. Gwaine gestured to his head. The pain was getting ridiculous now, like some blacksmith hammering away in his skull. The sunlight wasn't helping either. He could hear Merlin asking questions, and himself answering them. What the questions were, and what his answers were he couldn't say. The ground fell away from under him, and he felt himself being carried to somewhere shadier. Cool water was being poured on his head. It felt good.

"What should we do?" Lancelot addressed Arthur, unsure as to what his king would do.

"Well, we can't just leave him. Having said that, we can't exactly wait for him to get better..." Arthur trailed off into silence, looking at Gwaine. His eyes flickered to Lancelot and back again. Arthur stood, thinking. Would Lancelot be necessary on this trip? He had Percival after all, and Percival had the strength of a bear. Two bears.

"Right. Lancelot, you take him back to Camelot. The rest of you, with me. Merlin, see if you can give him something, will you?"

The rest of the company started getting back on their horses. Lancelot stood there in shock as the words Arthur said sank in. Him and Lancelot. Alone. For several days at least – there was no point in moving him when he was in this state, and Camelot was 2 days ride away.

He watched the knights ride away, scarlet cloaks blending in nicely with the autumn leaves. Then he turned his attention back to his lover, slumped against a tree.

-That evening-

Gwaine had fallen into some form of sleep, though it was slightly punctuated by tempting moans. Lancelot had set up camp, fetched water, started a fire and all the other stuff that you'd expect a knight to do. He checked on Gwaine for the umpteenth time. His temperature had gone down, and Merlin had given him a brew of some kind.

"Mmmmph, Lance?" A curly haired head stirred beneath his hand. Gwaine looked up at Lancelot and blinked sleepily. "Whaapenned?"

"Go to sleep, love. You're ill." He replied, smoothing down Gwaine's hair. He loved that mans hair. One of the few men who could pull off that hairstyle and still look goddamn sexy. Gwaine seemed about to protest, so he kissed him to shut him up.

Being the superb fighter he was, you'd have thought that Gwaine would have learnt to avoid such an obvious technique, yet he still fell for it every time.

Underneath him he felt Gwaine return the kiss, harder. Lancelot pulled away, looking at the man. God, he looked sexy all flushed and ruffled. But still. He was ill, and Lancelot was there to take care of him, not to seduce him.

Gwaine started to come in for another kiss, but Lancelot held him off.

"Not tonight, love, not tonight. When you're better."

"Am better." Came the reply.

A soft chuckle filled Lancelot's throat. The sound seemed to annoy Gwaine, as he rolled away from him with a huff.

"Aw, c'mon. Don't be like that!"

"Shan't do what you say."

"You're acting like a child!"

"Good."

He couldn't stop the laugh this time, it boomed out of him. Several birds in a tree across from them took flight.

"Hey, tomorrow, when you're feeling better. Until then you'll just have to be content with me holding you."

Gwaine huffed again, but then gave in. Slipping snugly into Lancelot's arms, he lay, contented.

The forest was silent that night. Not a single stirring disturbed the pair, until morning came and a fox ran over the couple.