A/N – In Merlin, Gwaine's death really broke my heart. I still cry over it sometimes! Therefore, I have a desperate need to see him make it to old age. Here's that story.
That Next Great Adventure
"Let me hold her one last time. Please."
Sir Gwaine, age sixty-four, reached out for his newborn great-granddaughter, Esmerelda. As he lay in bed, the life drained out of Gwaine slowly, but he needed to hold his "Precious Girl" (that's what he called her) once more.
Yesterday, Gwaine lost the ability to see, and at first, the loss of sight frightened him. But that's when he knew, between the weakness, difficulty drawing breath, and now the blindness, the end drew near. But the constant presence of his family, and best friend, Percival, made the experience less scary. In fact, lying in bed with a soft blanket covering him and plush pillows propping his head up, a sense of peace overwhelmed his mind. And he'd soon see his departed wife, Drea, whom he'd missed dreadfully since she died just over a year ago. Perhaps moving into the next world wouldn't be so bad.
"Well?" asked Gwaine, his voice raspy with age and illness. He held his pale, thin arms up even higher. "Where's my Precious Girl?"
Someone, he couldn't tell whom, settled a warm and sleepy baby Esmerelda into Gwaine's arms.
"Ah, much better."
He cradled the cooing little one gently in his arms and held her close to his chest. Yet shortly thereafter, the last vestiges of strength drained from his body, and he knew soon, he'd be forced to hand over his Precious Girl. After cuddling Esmerelda and planting a light kiss to her cheek, Gwaine whispered, "Take her now," and someone did.
Right then, confusion set in. Gwaine's thoughts became muddled and he wasn't sure where he was. Was he in bed in the castle? Had he fallen on the field after an intense battle? If so, that was a good and honorable way for a fierce Knight of Camelot to perish. Regardless, why couldn't he see? In a moment of panic, he tried to draw himself upright.
"Easy there, friend," said an aged, familiar voice. The speaker placed a light hand on Gwaine's bony shoulder.
"Percival? Percival, is that you?"
"Of course it's me. Where else would I be?"
"Where am I?" asked Gwaine.
"You're in your cottage," explained Percival, "preparing to move on to the next great adventure."
Now Gwaine remembered where he was and why. "Ah. Death, you mean."
"Yes, but don't worry. I'll join you soon." Perceval gave a deep, rattling cough, which sounded much like the one Gwaine developed a week ago.
"Well, don't come on my account."
"Even on your deathbed, you're still cracking jokes."
The two old men chuckled.
"Percival, we had some good times, didn't we?"
"The best, my friend."
"The battles, the beautiful women, the mead…" Gwaine's words trailed off, but a grin curled his lips.
With a smile in his voice, Percival said, "Though you had far more women and lots more mead, yes, it was a good life. The best."
Gwaine's tone turned serious. "But after Drea, there was no other. You know that. She was the love of my life… still is."
"I know. We all do," Percival reassured him.
"And my boys?" asked Gwaine. "They know I love them, too?"
"We're here, Father," a familiar voice called out. It must have been one of Gwaine's three sons, but he couldn't tell which. They were all grown now and sounded so similar when they spoke. "And we love you."
Gwaine sank deeper into his pillows. "Good. Good. I love you, boys."
With a sigh, Gwaine closed his eyes and drifted off into a pleasant sleep for what seemed like hours, but could have been moments. Without the benefit of sight, it was difficult to determine the time of day.
"Percival?" Gwaine called out as he woke. "Are you still here?"
"Right beside you."
"It was exciting, wasn't it?" said Gwaine. "Serving King Arthur and then King Llacheu… They're good men… Are we good men?"
"I believe so. If one measures a man by the depth of his loyalty and love for others, you're one of the best, Gwaine."
"You, too, Percival," whispered Gwaine, his voice fading.
There was so much more he wanted to say, but couldn't, since fatigue settled over Gwaine like a warm, heavy blanket. Yet somehow, his vision returned. How odd. He blinked his eyes and saw his precious wife, Drea, standing at the foot of his bed. Just like the day they'd married some forty years earlier, her long, red hair hung down in a thick, glossy curtain, and her ocean-blue eyes shone brightly. She smiled and held out her hand, beckoning Gwaine to join her. He reached out to his beloved Drea.
"She's here," Gwaine muttered to Percival. "It's Drea. I must go."
"Yes. You must. I will see you soon, old friend."
Somehow, Gwaine mustered the strength to rise from bed and take his wife's hand. In that instant, he knew no more pain, no suffering. Glancing down, he realized he possessed his youthful body once more, clad in chainmail and a scarlet cape. He ran his hand through his hair for a moment. Damn, how he'd missed his long, thick locks; it was nice to touch them again. He'd never been fond of the short, bristly white hair he'd worn in his later years.
"Are you ready, my love?" asked Drea with a smile.
"I am. I have missed you."
Gwaine turned to bid his family and Percival farewell, but they were all gathered around Gwaine's bed, weeping. A tear came to his own eye. He'd miss them, too. And even though he realized they couldn't hear him, Gwaine said, "I love you all. I'll see you again soon."
With those words, Gwaine stepped from the cottage into the dusky purple evening, his fingers threaded through his wife's. Sir Gwaine's next adventure had begun.
THE END