AN: Fix-it Tag to 5x13. This may be an unpopular opinion, but I was actually okay with Gwaine death-it was his last words that were heartbreaking. This Fix-it is dedicated to EffervescentAardvark, who was not okay with Gwaine's death. This was written with her help, and with the help of Caitydid. I have so many Merlin feels right now and I am writing about three fics at once, and I'm going to start posting them unfinished as I work on them.

...

"I failed."

Percival had said his goodbye, had held Gwaine in his arms, waiting for the other knight to breathe his last.

Only Gwaine never did stop breathing.

He didn't wake, either, which worried Percival. He was determined not to leave Gwaine before Gwaine left him—but Morgana was on the move and knew where Arthur was headed.

Still, somehow, he couldn't be bothered to care, not at this point, not with Gwaine right here, still alive, still breathing, so fragile, so unlike Gwaine. I failed, Gwaine had said, and Percival burst into tears again at the thought. He unbound Gwaine from the stakes in the ground and bundled him into both their cloaks, and still he held him. He couldn't let go.

"You have to go," croaked a voice from against his chest.

"Gwaine?" Percival started, holding Gwaine out at a distance, cradling his head so he could look at him properly. One ear was trickling blood, and his eyes, though open, were unfocused. "Gwaine, hush, don't—don't talk." He touched his brow, which was still warm, still felt like life, wrenching his heart with hope, though Gwaine gasped with difficulty and his limbs did not so much as twitch.

Suddenly Gwaine was shuddering in earnest, and tears streamed down his face. "Don't you fail him, too. Please."

"Gwaine, you did not fail—"

Gwaine wasn't listening. He never listened. And Percival was scared just hearing him talk, his voice sounded so dangerously weak. "Please, Perce, go. Y-you have to go—go. Don't waste time with me."

Percival wanted to strangle him, but that might have defeated his purpose. "Then don't argue," he said, having made his decision and feeling much better about it. He whistled loudly, and his well-trained chestnut mare trotted toward him, with Gwaine's less well-trained stallion trotting behind. "You're coming with me."

It was probably a good thing, then, that Gwaine chose this moment to lose consciousness. Percival eased Gwaine into the saddle and pulled himself up behind, and set off after Morgana.

…

He found Morgana's body. She was definitely, completely dead. And Gwaine yet remained alive. Percival wished Gwaine was awake to see this, though: it might help him see he hadn't failed, but Gwaine was unconscious against the neck of the horse.

Percival left her body for the crows.

He found Merlin on the shore of the Lake Avalon. There was a boat now, in the distance, and Arthur was nowhere to be seen. So Percival guessed.

The King was dead.

He couldn't bring himself to weep more than he already was, to feel worse than he already did. He turned back to Gwaine on the horse, touched his neck to feel the slowly thrumming life there, and dropped the reins to approach Merlin.

Merlin turned when he heard horses approaching, fully expecting an attack of some kind, eyes already a furious gold, rimmed in red. But the color flickered out as he saw not an enemy, but Percival, and two horses behind him.

"Percival?" he asked, and then looked past Percival to the horses. His heart nearly stopped. "What's happened? What's wrong, I thought you were—" he stopped, gaping, because Gwaine was slouched over the horse's neck, and he was perfectly still. He stepped forward to meet Percival. "Please, tell me he's not... he can't be..." he said to the tall knight.

Percival shook his head as Merlin approached Gwaine. "Morgana," he said. "The Nathair, she—he was screaming for..." Percival didn't want to talk about it. "Will he be all right?" he asked the junior physician, laying a hand low on Gwaine's back.

As Merlin reached out a hand to touch Gwaine, however, Gwaine's breath hitched, and he gave a full-body shudder. Merlin immediately took his hand away, his eyes shooting to Percival, who shrugged and wrinkled his brow. "Gwaine," he whispered, and the other knight's eyelids fluttered but did not open, but he did manage to whisper, "Perce," before he fell still and silent again.

Gwaine wasn't dead. Merlin let go a breath he didn't realize had caught in his throat when he'd thought his friend dead. "I don't know," Merlin answered, reaching towards Gwaine's arm again and then stopping. "We need to get him to Gaius, quickly. How did this happen?" he asked Percival, letting current concerns distract him from...from everything else. He couldn't let Gwaine die, not after Arthur. He couldn't. "Gwaine, hold on, please," he said to his friend, and then looked at Percival. "I don't have a horse," he admitted, not in the least caring if this rang some suspicious bell in Percival's mind, because that was really... really unimportant just now.

Percival nodded at Gwaine's horse, bidding Merlin climb on. But as he passed, Percival took the servant gently by the arm. "Arthur?" he said more than asked.

Merlin shook his head, and looked away as tears streamed down his face. Percival nodded, squeezed Merlin's arm, and helped him onto the horse as he stumbled from exhaustion. Then, wearily, he got up on his horse behind Gwaine, and pulled the smaller knight back against his chest and took the reins. He was surprised by the noise Gwaine made, a small whimper that was most unlike him as his head flopped back against Percival's shoulder. Refusing to weep, Percival wrapped an arm around Gwaine's chest and gave his horse a nudge in the direction of Camelot.

...

There was too much pain everywhere, far more than Gwaine wanted to, or could, deal with. He was cold, and his head pounded, blurring his vision. His failure weighed heavy on his chest, sickening his stomach. Merlin was there, a reminder of his failure to be worthy of even one friend. And he heard them speak of the death of Arthur.

He had led Morgana to him. His failure was complete.

Percival's touch was the only thing that did not hurt. The only thing that was comfort and not pain. He could be still when Percival was near. Percival was warm, was rest, was—

Well, maybe he'd managed one friend.

And oh, how Gwaine hated him for it. He wanted desperately to leave, to die. He was tired, he had failed, and he was done. But Percival wouldn't let him go.