Someone Worth Dying For
If it was one thing Gwaine knew how to do, it was lighten the mood with something funny or sarcastic or a sexual remark. He was the funny guy, the one who cracked jokes and was always in a good mood. Except that was a lie, just a front he put on to appease all the other knights.
Only two people in the world knew the other side to him: Percival and Merlin. Merlin had been there since the beginning, had been the best and only friend he'd ever had. He'd had so much resting on his shoulders. He was wise and thoughtful, an old restless soul that seemed to match and bring out the better parts of Gwaine. He and Merlin had lots of serious conversations, nights around a fire talking about dangerous quests and Merlin's destiny, and the hardest subject of all: magic.
Gwaine knew quite early on in their friendship his best friend possessed magic. And honestly, he didn't really give a damn. Magic was supposed to be evil and outlawed, blah blah blah. But what was the point of life if you didn't break rules and live on the edge a little? It had bemused Gwaine to see the serving boy use his magic, time and time again, to save that spoiled little braggart's firm arse. He heard Merlin utter an ancient language and he saw his eyes glow a brilliant shade of amber, and it took Gwaine's breath away. He'd watched his friend do this countless times, hoping one day Merlin would confide in him about it, but Gwaine wasn't a very patient person. He got too antsy and mentioned in passing about Merlin's magic, who stopped dead in his tracks and turned even paler than he already was. Gwaine had just laughed at the sheer look of terror, clapped his best friend on the back, and assured him he had nothing to worry about. And that was that. They'd grown closer than they ever had before, and Gwaine had been working his way up to the point where he could get a shag or two in. And he probably would have if it hadn't been for getting close to Percival.
The knight, with his rippling muscles and honest face, had made Gwaine's cock tug at his breeches on more than one occasion. But that was Gwaine, always horny as fuck, especially when he was drunk. After a night of drinking more ale than he would ever admit to at a pub, it was Percival who had looped his arms around Gwaine and ushered him out before he could start a fight.
"You're too good for his," he had muttered in Gwaine's ear. "You don't have to keep living like this. Some of us are here, some of us care, if you're willing to stop with the bullshite and look at what's right in front of your face."
He had tucked Gwaine into his makeshift bed and kept watch over him all night. When Gwaine had come to the next morning, nursing one hell of a hangover, he had smiled at Percy, gave his hand a gentle squeeze, and told him softly that he was sorry for being such a prat.
Goddamn Percy, he thought. He could read right through Gwaine. He forced him to calm down, to take care of himself, to act like a civilised human being. And for what? Percival wouldn't let Gwaine shag him until he was sure Gwaine had grown up and was committed. He wasn't there yet, but he would get there. Just so long as he had his two best mates to keep encouraging him.
He was close to the other knights, surely, but they never saw the sides of him he kept reserved. He would tease Leon for reading poetry or joke with Elyan about always being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He would spat goodnaturedly with Arthur. It warmed his heart to be close to these band of blokes. They were like his brothers, really, the family he'd never grown up with. But sometimes it was just so tiring. This whole destiny bullshite was just so tiring and pointless. In his opinion, Lance had gotten off easily.
Well, he wouldn't say that Lance's death had necessarily been a gift. Yeah, it was heartbreaking to see another knight go at the hands of that evil bitch Morgana, but at least he was free from it all. Gwaine was sick of going out of quests, doing patrols, constantly living in fear that Morgana was steadily gaining power and was going to attack Camelot again. Lance wasn't there for when that really did happen. He wasn't there to stop all of her attacks, to suffer at her hands, to have spies implanted within the castle for the knights to ferret out. It was all a bit lacklustre to him. Sometimes he wished he could just roam about from pub to pub like he used to. Would have, if he hadn't gotten close to Merlin and Percy. And if he didn't believe in King Prat so much.
He'd just wanted it to be over, wanted to take his shot at the high priestess before she killed anyone else at the Battle of Camlann. The place he'd grown to love was being destroyed, its villagers were dying by the masses, and he just wanted this magic shite to be over and done with. He'd had no idea he would fail them all so easily.
Gwaine, searing pain racking his entire body, slumped down on his knees. He laughed through his pain. And they say your life flashes before your eyes when you die. No, he thought. Just the best parts. His mate Merlin and everything he'd taught him. Goddamn Percy, who he'd never get to shag, never get to grow old with. Arthur, the only king he was willing to die for.
Percival saw Gwaine on the ground and rushed over to the man he loved. He took Gwaine's face in his, touched their foreheads together. Gwaine gasped in pain. His body was failing him. Whatever Morgana had done to him, whatever power she'd used to torture his secrets out of him, was killing him.
"She's riding for Avalon," Gwaine choked out, his vision becoming blurry. Everything hurt. He wanted to let go, right here, in Percival's arms. But not before letting him know how sorry he was.
"Gwaine," Percival breathed, tears collecting in his eyes. No, he thought. You can't take him from me. Not Gwaine. Anyone but Gwaine. He didn't know how to help the helpless man dying before his eyes, dying in his embrace.
"I failed," Gwaine said.
Percival shook his head. "No. You haven't."
Gwaine painfully shuddered a few last breaths, his eyes fluttering closed. Percival was frantic, trying to think of how he could save his life. "Gwaine! Gwaine!" he screamed.
But it was too late. Gwaine wasn't breathing anymore. There was nothing, no heartbeat, just a limp body. Percival clenched his jaw tight, cradling Gwaine's head, leaning in to kiss his dead lips once, before sniffing away his tears and gently placing him on the ground.
He walked a ways to his horse, grabbed a shovel from the saddle, and walked back over to Gwaine. He tried not to look at his lover's body, tried not to think of Gwaine as dead. Just…sleeping. Just passed out after getting pissed. He was too drunk to stay awake.
He dug a shallow grave, gathered stones to mark the burial, and then slowly turned back to face Gwaine, lifeless on the ground. He was paler than he had been when he had held him in his arms. He knelt by Gwaine, cradling him in his arms for a minute or two, swallowing back the lump in his throat, before heaving him into his arms and placing him carefully into the grave he'd dug.
As he covered the grave, his mind rushed from sadness to utter loathing for Morgana. He thought he'd hated her before, but now…it was personal. Now she needed to die. Gwaine deserved that justice. Percival knew he had to follow her to Avalon, for Gwaine. To avenge his death, to avenge so many innocent people she had slaughtered in her quest for power.
He mantled his horse, followed the high priestess's tracks, eager to die if it meant he would take her down with him.