Disclaimer: IDOM

AN: HAPPY NEW YEAR YOU GUYS! :D

This was written for Aerist on the Heart of Camelot. We were all assigned holiday buddies, and though it is rather late, this is my gift to her. I had intended to post this in my Rabbits and Bathroom Breaks collection…but as you can see, it got rather long rather quickly. xD

Enjoy!

Grief was not something that Sir Gwaine could necessarily deal with. Perhaps that was because, ever since he experienced his first loss, he shied away from it. He didn't like to grieve. He tried not to grieve because he knew that the dead would hate to know that they'd caused their loved ones pain.

That, and they'd hate to see that some of those loved ones stopped living because of them.

At least, that's how Gwaine felt. Gwaineknew that he'd hate it if people grieved for him, should he ever die in the service of Arthur Pendragon...or should he die in any of the stupid ways his sovereign and friends predicted he might.

Well, in whatever case, whether he died with a sword or a tankard in hand—that wouldn't matter. Should it happen, he'd rather have his fellow knights raise their glasses and drink in celebration of his life than have them hide away, alone, where they would have nothing but the reminder of his death to keep them company.

And he didn't think Lancelot would either.

Everyone had his or her own method for dealing with grief, he supposed. It was his own preferred method that had him currently trudging down to the Rising Sun Inn and Tavern, where he had spent the last few nights drinking in memory of a dear friend and selfless knight. Those who joined him had reminisced and swapped tales of Lancelot's bravery, kindness, and humbleness. They had laughed in remembrance of some of the funny times and had not been ashamed to shed some tears over the less-funny times. No doubt they would again tonight.

Lancelot had touched so many lives and had sacrificed so much for the whole of Camelot that there had been no shortage of people in the tavern since the Veil had been healed and the Dorocha, banished from their world. Even Arthur Pendragon took leave of his duties one night to come to honor Lancelot's memory, but the ones he truly wished to see there would never hear of joining him and the others.

When he asked, Arthur had admitted, "Guinevere blames herself," and remembering her distraught tears the day the funeral pyre was lit, Gwaine did not doubt it. She had lost the life and warmth in her eyes that he associated with her and her alone, and upon hearing Arthur voice much of the same observation, he had winced and scolded himself for not trying to do a better job to help him convince her otherwise. That would change.

"And Merlin," the Prince Regent had continued, sighing and running a hand through his hair, "I couldn't tell you what he was thinking. He scares me with the way he's thrown himself into his work."

That, too, bothered Gwaine more than he could say. He wasn't so daft that he hadn't noticed Merlin avoiding everyone and everything by going above and beyond his duties as manservant and physician's apprentice. The boy had even begun to volunteer to help elsewhere: in the kitchens, the stables, the washrooms, and anywhere else that could find use for him. Camelot was recovering from the recent attacks from the Dorocha, after all, and every hand was needed. Or so Merlin had cheerily said every time Gwaine happened to stumble upon him rushing through the castle.

They all knew the truth, however. They all knew that behind that bright grin there was a fiercely guilty and brooding young man. They all knew that he dropped the mask whenever he was alone, and they knew that he had been doing his utmost to avoid speaking with them. According to Arthur, who had seen the most of Merlin out of all of them, the manservant had hardly spoke more than was necessary and had hardly slept so much as a wink with the amount of work he piled on himself.

That was not all. The argument he had accidentally overheard between Gaius and Merlin on the subject of the latter's health had been particularly disturbing. Gaius, who seemed to be the only one able to knock any amount of sense into Merlin, had been at a loss for words when his nephew brushed him off the moment Gwaine turned the corner.

Thinking about it now, Gwaine realized that he was far less bothered than he was worried. This coping method was tearing his friend apart, and Gwaine wasn't entirely sure how to help. Not only was this a form of grief he was especially unfamiliar with, but Merlin also refused to do anything more than suffer in silence and continue working himself into the ground, which was not doing him any favors.

Gwaine bet Lancelot would know what to do. Lancelot always knew exactly the right thing to say, and he had the sensitivity that Gwaine himself lacked. Merlin had had an especially close friendship with him, too...

He was the only one to have seen Lancelot sacrifice himself. He probably blamed himself far more than even Gwen did.

Suddenly, shame overcame the knight. His philosophy was far too simple in a case like this. Far, far too simple. What kind of friend was he...to leave Merlin alone at a time like this? The younger man obviously didn't want to speak to anyone, and Gwaine had thought that respecting that desire was the best thing for Merlin.

His actions and his short-tempered dismissal of Gaius the other day suggested otherwise, and if it were anyone else...but no, this was Gaius that he wouldn't acknowledge. Gaius.

And yet that might just be the problem. Gaius was Merlin's mentor, his father-figure...and he loved him unconditionally. Whatever lecture or motivational speech he had for Merlin probably wasn't enough... Or it was something he did not want to hear. Not this time.

Merlin might not want to hear what Gaius had to say, but that didn't mean that Merlin wouldn't listen to someone. Before the thought even fully formed in his head, he blinked and realized he had changed direction long ago. No longer headed toward the Rising Sun, the knight had already pivoted on his heel and found himself headed toward the stables.

When he reached his destination, he shouldered the heavy door open. A blast of warmth and the smell of horses and hay gusted from the opening, and quickly shutting the door behind him to keep the heat inside, Gwaine rubbed his arms.

Upon hearing the door thud shut, the stable boy put aside some of the tools he was using to mend a saddle and rose to his feet. "Do you require a horse, Sir?" he asked.

"No, that's quite alright," Gwaine said slowly. "I was looking for someone."

The boy shrugged. "Hasn't been anyone in all night."

"You sure about that?" Gwaine smirked, ducking through the workroom in order to enter the door through which the horses' stalls were housed.

And sure enough, there stood Merlin, gently patting his own mare's snout. The old girl was munching on sugar cubes—Merlin had always spoiled that horse rotten—and the pitchfork that the manservant was supposed to be using was propped next to her stall, forgotten.

"There you are," Gwaine said.

Merlin didn't even flinch. He did not look up from the mare when he asked, "How did you know where to find me?"

For a moment, Gwaine had no answer, but smiling broadly, he came up behind Merlin and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Well, we all know that you've recently taken to scorning the company of men in favor of hanging around with horses."

That elicited a chuckle from Merlin, which Gwaine counted as a good sign. A victory, even. "Seriously, Gwaine."

Scoffing, Gwaine pretended to appear affronted. "Give me some credit, Merlin. I know you, and I know you'll do whatever it takes to put off mucking the stables. If not in Gaius' chambers, this is the most likely place you'd be this time of night."

Merlin finally looked up, and Gwaine was shocked at how truly awful he looked. Dark bags discolored the skin beneath his eyes, which were lackluster and blurred with exhaustion. Mercilessly, the knight decided to tack on, "Especially with all that you've been doing to help everyone through the recent attacks."

Gwaine's tone was nonchalant, but he noticed Merlin's arm stiffen and his eyes narrow suspiciously. "Why are you here? Is Arthur looking for me?"

"Nope," Gwaine answered, deliberately ignoring the first question.

Merlin's jaw tightened, and shrewd as ever, he turned back to the mare and, with a hint of evasive bitterness in his tone, pressed, "So then why are you here?"

Leaning over to take a bruised apple from the bin nearby, Gwaine took a bite and pointed a finger around the piece of fruit. "That right there is exactly why I'm here."

Because you never needed to ask before...

That obviously was not what Merlin expected to hear, and he whipped his head to the knight, his eyes wide with disbelief. They stared at each other in silence, but Gwaine refused to break it. No, he continued to munch on his apple and watch Merlin's jaw work as he struggled to find words. The knight thought at first that his friend would play the fool and ask him what he meant by saying that. The uncharacteristic rage and indecisive guilt written on his face, however, told a different story. Merlin knew exactly what he meant, and either he wanted to blow up in Gwaine's face and tell him to keep his ass in the tavern where he belonged or—

Merlin's shoulders suddenly folded inward on themselves, and he sighed, running his hand through his hair. "I know," he said, voice cracking in his sudden vulnerability. "I know."

"Then you also know that I should have been here earlier, but since I am here now, I'm not leaving," Gwaine stated as he crossed his legs lazily. "Not unless you tell me to."

"I'd rather not talk about this right now, Gwaine," he snapped, suddenly on the defensive. That sharp tone, no matter how believable, was not enough to conceal the vulnerability underneath.

"Of course you don't! Hell knows I wouldn't! But that's beside the point, my friend, because I don't believe I ever said anything about talking, did I?"

The fight had gone nearly as quickly as it had come, and Merlin's voice was small and unimposing when he added, "I have work to do, Gwaine."

"Now that's an excuse if I ever heard one," the knight teased lightly. "Bugger that! You've been working your arse off."

"I thought you were just leaving."

"You didn't ever tell me that you wanted me to leave," the knight pointed out with a slight smile. "Say the word, and I'll go."

Merlin looked tempted. The dismissal was on the tip of his tongue, and he even made eye contact in order to deliver it. Gwaine's heart dropped to his stomach: he hadn't expected Merlin to actually do it...or perhaps it was that he hoped that he wouldn't. It was difficult not to appear relieved when his friend faltered, averting his eyes.

The mare, sensing something wrong with her rider, butted Merlin's narrow shoulder from behind, and he absentmindedly stroked her velvety nose. "Do you know what the best thing about animals is?" he asked in a quiet voice. "If you treat them well—feed them, give them a warm roof over their heads, spend time with them—it doesn't always matter who you are. They love you. Unconditionally. I've seen dogs that would lay down their own lives for the safety of their masters. I've seen horses that would go that extra league just to please their riders."

Gwaine had no idea why Merlin was speaking about animals now, of all times, but hey, the manservant was always a bit of an odd bird. The word love registered a little too late, and he was halfway through an encouraging nod when a shell-shocked expression crossed his face. "Are—Are you saying...?" Awkwardly, he rolled his wrist in a pathetic sort of gesture.

Merlin quirked a brow at him and said slowly, "No, I'm not entirely sure what it is you think I'm saying. My point is, you could be a smuggler, a farmer, a king...and that animal would not judge you. People are not like that."

Gwaine would have been more embarrassed for his hasty assumption if he hadn't been so angry to hear these words. "Has someone hurt you Merlin?" he asked in a tight voice. When the servant shot him a startled look, he continued, "You have friends who—"

"Gwaine..."

"I mean it, Merlin. You can tell us if..."

Merlin started laughing, and it was so dark, so bitter that Gwaine gawked at the young man before him.

"What if I can't tell anyone, Gwaine? What then? What if, in telling, I can be assured that someone will hurt me?"

Speechless, Gwaine could only just stand there as Merlin ranted, his eyes flashing with all the emotion, all the self-loathing, rage, and pain, that he had allowed to build up. He had never felt so lost in a conversation before. First animals and now what sounded like blackmail? And somehow Lancelot tied into all this?

This was something far bigger than Gwaine anticipated.

"Even my so-called friends, Gwaine. Even they—" Merlin choked on his words and swallowed hard, shaking his head vigorously. "Gaius, my mother...they are family, and they do not count. Lancelot...he was the only other one who knew. Not that it matters much now! I watched as he walked into the Veil. I had the power to stop him, Gwaine! I am a selfish and stupid—"

Gwaine launched off the barrel he was sitting on. "Oi! Stop that! Lancelot made his choices, and I'm damn certain—"

"Don't say that you think I did everything I could," Merlin warned. "I've already had that lecture from Gaius."

"You're a right pain when you bottle your emotions, mate," Gwaine groaned bluntly. "I was going to say that I'm damn certain that Lance would hate to see you like this. I know I do!"

Merlin stared for a long time, and ever so slowly, he lowered himself to kneel on the floor. His fingers kneaded at the fabric covering his knees, and his shaggy dark hair might have hid his expressive eyes, but his trembling shoulders betrayed him.

Gwaine silently slipped onto he floor beside him. "We all carry a fair amount of guilt for what happened to Lancelot," he admitted. "Gwen thinks that he took a promise he made to her too far. Arthur admitted to being the one who wanted to close the Veil; he feels responsible. I myself was knocked out. I couldn't even try to stop him. The others think that they should have killed those wyverns more quickly. In the end...all of this blaming is worthless. Why? Because this was Lancelot. In his place, any of us would have done the same, but he was always the noblest of us all."

Bright blue eyes immediately whipped to him, and Gwaine almost flinched at the strange and poignant ferocity within them.

I'll be damned; there it is, Gwaine mused. Exactly like Perce said.

Percival didn't usually speak much, but when he did, it was worth listening to, and Gwaine would never forget what he said the night of Morgana and Morgause's downfall a year ago: "When I met him, I would have never believed it, but I've seen it, not just in the things he does and says, but in the things he doesn't say—in his eyes. You truly don't want to underestimate him, do you?"

Gwaine never underestimated Merlin, not since he saw him back-talk a thug and hold his own in a rowdy tavern brawl. Nope, not once since, and his respect for the young man only grew with time. This, however, was the first time he saw the full truth of Percival's words.

He held that piercing gaze, and it was Merlin who broke eye contact. Releasing a strangled huff of a sigh, Merlin brought his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. "I—I think I needed to hear that, Gwaine," he whispered. "Thank you."

Gwaine was just about to tell him not to thank him yet—he was not about to forget that Merlin was obviously distraught about far more than the guilt he bore—but Merlin beat him to it.

"I was told that there was no other way to heal the Veil. A sacrifice had to be given. I was going to sacrifice myself in Arthur's place, but when I stood before the Caileach..." He cringed. "I could feel it. There's always another way, and even if I was wrong, I would have at least—"

"Merlin," Gwaine interrupted sternly, "this was a maniacal and magical spirit-world gatekeeper you're talking about."

A slightly hysterical chuckle escaped his friend's lips. "I specialize in the maniacal and magical."

Gwaine shot the younger man a bewildered look, but considering that Merlin did have to take care of Arthur all day long and lived with Camelot's magic-informant, he supposed the claim wasn't too far-fetched. "I don't know what you suppose you felt, mate, but I know that her entire presence was wrong and evil. I do not think any amount of negotiating would alter her desire for a sacrifice."

"I never said anything about negotiating," Merlin said numbly, his long fingers picking at his sleeves.

The bewilderment returned. "If not negotiating, then..."

"I could have found another way! I—I have magic, Gwaine," the servant blurted, rubbing his sudden tears away. "Don't you see?"

After his outburst, Merlin swallowed a gasp, but after momentarily closing his eyes, he raised his jaw confidently toward Gwaine, testing him, daring him to say something about what he had just revealed.

But Gwaine couldn't speak. Magic. The word—It…it made so much sense. It shouldn't have made sense, but it did; it made absolutely perfect sense. Merlin had magic, and on some level, he wasn't the least bit surprised. In fact, it was pretty damn amazing in Gwaine's book. How long he had it or when he started practicing it was not so important right now as the fact that he—

Oh my God.

What if I can't tell anyone? Merlin had said.

He was alone. He had been alone with a secret that could kill him. Gaius, his mother… Of course they'd know! Lancelot—Lance had known too. He was the only other one, and now he was...

Gone.

What if, in telling, I can be assured that someone willhurt me? Merlin had said.

A colorful cuss nearly slipped from Gwaine's mouth because dammit all to hell, they were in bloody Camelot. Uther bloody Pendragon lived just a skip and hop away. What the hell was the moron thinking? Magic in Camelot? As Arthur's manservant?

He might have knocked the servant upside the head if he hadn't continued speaking at that very moment. "I blame myself for not being good enough or powerful enough to find a different way," Merlin whispered shakily, "because, given the time, I could have. It kills me to know…that I could have avoided this. Lancelot didn't have to pay the price."

Before Gwaine could react, Merlin's mare, who had been quite silent and unobtrusive throughout the conversation, lowered her head to snuffle at her rider's hair. Merlin reached up to pat her snout, and now unable to look Gwaine in the eye, he murmured, "You see, animals don't judge sorcerers either." His head bowed, and this time, Merlin did not stop the tears from racing down his cheeks. "And neither did Lancelot."

Gwaine did the only thing he could do. He shifted so that he sat side-by-side with the grieving and hurt servant-turned-sorcerer, and he gave him a one-armed hug. "Neither do I."

AN: This will not be continued. I've got plenty of new projects very eagerly awaiting their turn. Now that this is done, HG's next chapter will be in progress. ;) Oh, and speaking of…today is officially HG's second anniversary. Amazing how time flies.

Again, Happy New Year and best wishes.

Oz out