Disclaimer: not mine. However, Lancelot's backstory, as well as Percival's, was fleshed out a bit for the purposes of this fic.
After the events of the Darkest Hour, the knights of the round table go on a memorial quest to their fallen friend's birthplace. Spoilers.
Note: there are indeed species of roses that bloom in winter, but I found it unlikely that any of our knights would know enough about them to comment :)
To Honor the Fallen
Part III
Gwaine woke slowly but with the foggy understanding that it was still before dawn and that he ought to close his eyes and go back to sleep again. He found it sadly impossible to do so. He sat, scooting himself back from the fire that now felt a bit hot. He'd gone too close for a man wearing chainmail. Well, it wasn't the first time he'd done so.
Percival sat cross-legged on the other side of the fire, his sword drawn and laid across his lap. He'd taken over for Elyan, Gwaine saw. The real question, of course, was had he managed any sleep at all before doing so?
"Hey," Gwaine said quietly, rubbing grit from his eyes.
"Hello."
"What time is it?"
"You've got two hours yet before dawn. At least," Percival replied, his deep voice grinding low beneath the crackle of the lively fire. "Lay down and go back to sleep."
There was something so old in the sound of his voice, and so sad, that Gwaine couldn't help but obey.
When he opened his eyes again, the sun was rising and Leon and Elyan were on their feet. "Give us a hand with the fire, will you?" Elyan grouched. Leon was setting out pieces of bread for breakfast. Across the clearing, Percival was tending to the horses.
Dutifully Gwaine knelt, scooping handfuls of dirt over the dying flames as Elyan smothered the embers idly with the underside of his boot.
Frost hung heavily in the air, and Gwaine watched the fire go out with childish disappointment. The weather coupled with the early start meant that tempers were worse than they'd been the evening before. At least Percival fussed only as much as the others did. Gwaine would take them all in slightly bad moods long before he would take three of them happy while the fourth was miserable.
The sun climbed higher as they rode, breaking through the trees and warming the air. Gwaine closed his eyes in pleasure as he felt the first rays hitting his face. Soon after it had fully risen, the trees faded into hilly plains. Leon pulled his horse to a stop and the others copied his movements. "We're drawing close," he called back. "Keep up." They hardly needed to be told to keep time, Gwaine thought. It had been a warning to prepare themselves for whatever lay ahead- and personally Gwaine couldn't say that he minded.
Nobody spoke as the horses took them steadily along the faint path through the hills. Signs of habitation appeared gradually, until finally the hills gave way to fields of grain and beans. After that it wasn't long before a cluster of houses came into view.
"They rebuilt it," Elyan mused aloud.
"Or others build over it," Leon corrected. "It isn't uncommon." He led them through the fields, up to the entrance to the village. A few dozen pale-haired men and women bustled about; they paused at the arrival of the visitors. Children playing at the edge of the square looked up, alarmed.
Leon dismounted with an easy smile. "I am Sir Leon of Camelot," he announced evenly. "Our apologies for the interruption of habit. Have we reached the village of Benwick?"
"In a way," an older man replied, stepping forward. His shoulder-length hair had faded almost entirely to white, though some blond remained at the tips. "What's your business here?"
Leon held his hands appeasingly aloft. "We seek to honor a fallen fellow knight. He hailed from Benwick, before it was raided. We were told we could find the village here."
The man snorted loudly. "A knight? From Benwick? No nobles 'round these parts, I can tell you, my liege."
Leon's face softened perceptibly. "He was a peasant knight. And a great man. He died saving our lives and we wish to honor him by returning his sword to the place of his birth."
"It's true," Elyan added, dismounting behind Leon. "I am a peasant knight as well, the son of a blacksmith. We're sorry for the disruption, but please tell us. Is this Benwick?"
The man studied them for a long while; Gwaine and Percival slid off their horses as well and stood patiently, awaiting the judgment of this wrinkled villager. At long last, he nodded. "This place was once called Benwick. Raiders destroyed nearly everything. If your friend was from here, he was lucky to have escaped. Our village was even worse," he added sorrowfully, gesturing to the people around him. "We were forced to flee. When we came across a place with some buildings still left standing, well. We rebuilt it. Settled here."
Leon bowed his head in thanks. "We are truly sorrow for the troubles of your people. Please," he added, returning to his horse. "Take these." He produced two midsize sacks of what Gwaine guessed to be more apples and placed them respectfully at the feet of the villager, who eyed them steadily.
"You're not like any knights of Camelot I've ever met," he huffed. "On a quest to honor your fallen friend, you say?" He prodded one of the sacks with a booted toe, then smiled. "I'm Thomas," he said at last. "If you're looking for Benwick, the only bits we didn't take over are back there." He pointed to the west of the village proper. "There's a field there with a few little kilns left. And a well. Travelers have come through to leave memorial tokens there. You're welcome to do the same."
"Thank you, Thomas." Leon's voice was sincere.
"Thank you," Thomas replied, tapping his foot once more against the apples. "Not far off that way, just look for the roses. They're why we left that field be. It's a nice place to leave memorials, you know. Feel free to use the roses if you like."
Leon frowned. "Use the roses?"
"Oh yes. There's a bit of a ritual to it as well, if you like. Oh, oh, no magic, no sir," Thomas sputtered, catching the scorn on Leon's face. He was afraid he'd grown too bold, Gwaine could see. "Nothing like that. Not sure where it came from but it's been 'round these parts for as long as anyone can remember. Honor the dead, if you like. Mourning with roses, we call it."
"Lancelot told me about that." Percival's voice was gentle, surprised. "He performed it once himself." Shifting under the gazes that everyone abruptly turned on him, he smiled weakly. "I don't remember it well."
"It isn't much. We don't have much to offer the dead- we don't have enough as it is for the living!" He shook his head sadly. "But winter roses have sprung up around the field. Beautiful things. Travelers pick a red one and a white one, 'n' make a circle in the dirt. You say the name it is you'd like to honor in death and lay the red one down, then you say the name it is you'd like to honor in life and lay the white one down. Then you burn 'em. Not magic, not magic. It's like a prayer."
Leon seemed to sense the man's discomfort as well, and he nodded his polite thanks once again. "We don't disrupt you any longer, Thomas. Thank you for the directions."
"My pleasure, sire," Thomas agreed, relieved at the knights' retreat. Gwaine and the others followed Leon's lead as he took his horse by the reigns and made his way down the path.
The field was small, not much use for farming. Roses sprung up in rows on two sides, and a forest loomed at the other end. Relics of the old Benwick dotted the land. "We should try it," Elyan said quietly, once they'd secured their horses.
"The rose thing?" Gwaine guessed.
"Yes. Why not? If it was something Lancelot grew up knowing about-" Elyan shrugged. "It seems to make sense."
Percival's face broke out in the first genuine smile he'd given in days. "I'll collect the roses."
The fire was growing well when Percival returned, an entire bouquet of flowers held firmly in one hand, their stems wrapped in a handkerchief to protect against thorns.
"Someone got a bit excited," Elyan teased, climbing to his feet as Percival came to a stop.
"Right. Well, I thought maybe we could... honor... other people too," he answered slowly, drawing the flowers protectively up to his chest. "Lancelot told me about it- just in passing, but he said you honor others you've lost as well. In the hopes they're all together, I suppose." Gwaine counted five red roses and five white.
"I think that's a brilliant idea," Leon replied, patient with Percival in a way typically reserved for children.
"You do?" Percival, in turn, smiled like a young boy receiving praise.
"Of course." Leon pushed to his feet. "It's past midday. Shall we get on with it?"
Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan watched in silence as Leon selected a grassless patch of dirt and kicked the soil until it was even. Gently he drew his sword and traced a circle the size of a small shield inside. He wiped it clean on his trousers before holstering it again and stepping back.
They formed a ring around the circle, careful not to rub it away. Gwaine stood between Percival and Leon, facing Elyan. Percival passed a red and a white rose to each of them, pausing when he reached Leon. "Would you honor Lancelot for us?" He asked solemnly. "I feel that maybe I should, but... words are no friends of mine."
Leon's eyes widened briefly before he nodded. "It would be my honor." Something passed between them that Gwaine recognized without fully understanding, and in one motion they both moved their flowers to their left hands and clenched their empty right hands together. Percival gave Leon the extra two flowers before taking his place in the ring between Elyan and Gwaine.
Leon drew a deep breath before stepping forward and kneeling. He spoke in a voice that was loud, calm, and sad. "We are here to honor Sir Lancelot, a knight of Camelot and of the round table. And... a brother, to all of us. Five weeks hence he sacrificed himself to end a reign of horror the likes of which I had never seen before, and hope never to see again."
Leon looked as close to tears as Gwaine felt, but none fell from any man's eyes. Elyan rested a hand calmly on Percival's shoulder, both of their faces perfectly impassive.
"Lancelot was a great man, and a brave and loyal knight. He was-" Leon paused abruptly, his voice thick. "He was the noblest man I've ever met. Before him, this might have surprised me, given his bloodline. But Lancelot taught me otherwise. His first act in Camelot was to forge noble papers for himself so that he might become a knight. We were outraged. But his second was to kill a griffin plaguing the citadel." Leon laughed wetly. "He insisted he had still dishonored himself, and left. He killed a griffin, and thought it wasn't enough to make him a true knight!" Schooling his face again, Leon sobered. "If there was ever a true knight, it was Sir Lancelot. His return to Camelot was indeed a miraculous thing.
"We four have traveled here, to the village of his birth, to give our thanks to him and to say our goodbyes to him. Thank you, Sir Lancelot. May your spirit rest in peace with those of your family." Gently he lay a red rose down in the middle of the dirt circle.
Leon paused a long moment, enough time for Elyan to sigh deeply and retract his hand, and for Percival to cross his arms protectively against his chest.
Then Leon cleared his throat and continued. "We also honor the lives that Lancelot saved," he continued, his voice a bit softer now. "They are countless. By repairing the veil between the worlds and stopping the Dorocha, Lancelot did more good with his death than a dozen men might do with all their lives combined." He leaned forward, adding the white rose to the red. Then he stood, drawing back to his place in the ring.
Silently they stared at the circle of dirt. Gwaine fingered the roses in his hand, heedless of the thorns that pierced through his calloused skin. Normally he might have used these moments of pain to distract himself from the real grief at hand- but not today. Today he wasn't going to run.
Nobody seemed willing to go first with their personal portion. Finally Leon laughed. "I'll go again, then, shall I?" For the second time, he knelt beside the circle.
"I honor the men I've fought with," he said. "In my years as a knight, I've watched many good men die. I try to remember them all, but I can't always. There've been too many." He placed the red rose gently on the flowers already in the middle of the circle. "And I honor my mother and father," he continued, his voice faltering a bit. "I'm only just now realizing how lucky I am to still have them." He added the white rose atop the red, then pushed himself to his feet and retreated to his place in the circle. Elyan thumped him on the back and Leon offered a weak smile in return.
Surprising himself, Gwaine stepped forward and knelt. "I honor my father," he murmured. There was so much more he could say: how little he remembered, how much that absence pained him, how desperately he hoped that somehow, his father knew what he'd become. That maybe he'd gotten a bit of a laugh about his son, a knight of Camelot. That maybe he'd made him proud.
Gwaine said none of this. Instead he laid his first rose atop Leon's. For a long time, nobody spoke. Then Gwaine coughed and continued, "and I honor the three of you. And Merlin. My friends." He placed his second rose across the first and stood, drawing a sleeve across his watering eyes.
Elyan took his place by the circle. "I honor my father as well," he said solemnly. "And my mother." He cleared his throat. "When she died, I ran. When my father died, it was only another reason to stay away. I hope they know I've come back, now, and I'm glad." He added his red rose to the growing pile. "And I honor Guinevere. I haven't been the best brother I could have been. But I love her with all I am." He laid the white rose down and got to his feet.
Slowly, all eyes turned to Percival. His own gaze held fast to the pile of roses as though enchanted. Gwaine took a step to the side, just close enough to lay a hand on his friend's arm; he was surprised and a bit alarmed to feel how violently the massive man was trembling. He wanted to tell him it was all right. He wanted to tell him that he didn't have to do this, not really. But Gwaine, for all his many faults, did not consider himself a liar.
Finally Percival stepped forward and went slowly down to one knee before the circle and its pile of flowers. Gwaine's now-empty hand clenched uneasily at his side. "I-" Percival began, stopping short when his voice broke. "I honor Lancelot's family. I hope- I believe that they have been reunited with their son, and that they might all be at peace together, at last. Lancelot didn't speak of them often, but I know he- he missed them every moment. There's no end to a pain like that. It's good that they're together again."
Gwaine swallowed hard, watching the tears slide easily down Percival's face, knowing what was coming next with a dull ache in his stomach. "And I honor my family," Percival whispered, sinking down lower. He draped an arm over his raised knee, chin only inches above it. "I honor my mother, my father, Henry, Gabrielle... and Frederick. I know the pain that Lancelot felt. My heart... is broken," he sobbed.
Without consciously deciding to move, Gwaine was at his side in an instant, wrapping an arm around the man's broad shoulders. "I had eighteen years with you," Percival continued, his voice a shattered mess. "I know it's more than some get, but it'll never be enough. When Frederick died, I don't know why I honestly bothered to keep myself alive. You were everything I had. Everything I knew." He sniffed loudly, panting like a dog out of breath. Gwaine tightened his hold. "I don't know how I lasted until Lancelot found me. I don't know why I tried. But he understood. He taught me how to keep going on. Now he's gone as well, and I thought I couldn't hurt any worse than I did, but I do."
Tears were pouring down Gwaine's cheeks. He wasn't bothered at the thought of Leon or Elyan seeing; in truth he hardly remembered that they were still there. Percival was collapsed sideways against him now, unsteady on one knee. The sheer amount of weight he was giving to Gwaine made him sure that such decisions were beyond his friend's control by now. Gently, he pushed down on Percival's leg until the man rearranged himself with both knees on the ground. Satisfied that at least his friend was physically stabilized now, Gwaine wrapped both arms around Percival's shaking body, his chest pressed to the man's side, and held tight.
Percival had his hands in front of his face. He quaked and trembled, weeping violently but without commotion, his silence punctuated only rarely by strained sobs. Nobody else made a sound. Gwaine had no words of comfort, and Leon and Elyan seemed frozen, outside them.
Finally Percival gave a last massive shutter and lifted his head. His cheeks shone slickly, his eyes and nose stained the same uneven pink. Gwaine let go the rather desperate hold he'd taken on his friend. "I forgot my rose," Percival whispered, dumbly, and Gwaine bit back an hysterical laugh. Somberly, Percival retrieved the red flower from the ground where he'd dropped it at his side. It was small in his hand as he added it to the pile. "I'm sorry," he murmured.
"It's all right."
"No. I really am sorry." Now, finally, he made some real noise, gulping and sniffing loudly and messily as he mopped his face with the hem of his cloak. "It's not as though you haven't all lost those you care about. Sometimes I wonder why I'm the only one who can't stop mourning them."
"It's not a competition," Gwaine promised flatly, taking his arm again roughly. "And no, Percy, none of us can compare to what you've been through. We just can't."
Percival just nodded, sniffing again. One final tear slipped down his cheek, and with his free hand he wiped it away impatiently. He reached down to the ground again, and Gwaine hung on dumbly until he realized that the man still had one flower left. The white rose- to honor the living, and the future. Right. Gwaine wasn't feeling so enthusiastic about that bit just then, and he hardly though that Percival could be, either. Nevertheless, he let go, shuffling backwards from the circle before standing, shaky and weak. A hand clapped down on his back from either side of him, then stayed there to support him as he nearly lost his footing at Percival's next words.
"I honor Gwaine," Percival said quietly. "At first, when Lancelot died, I didn't think I could go through losing someone again. I thought I'd finally come up against the thing that would do me in. But I haven't, not yet. And he's been the one to show me that. So I honor him. And I honor the rest of you, and everyone else in Camelot who've given me hope." Calmly, Percival added the final rose to the circle, pushed himself to his feet, and stepped back to his place. He took the torch that Leon passed him, touched it to the pile, and handed it back.
The four knights stared at the burning flowers until nothing but ash remained. Gwaine was overcome by the childish urge to run his fingers through it, but resisted. Instead he took the sword that Leon passed him and, with one smooth blow, drove it swiftly through the ashes and deep into the ground. It gleamed in the rapidly fading sunlight.
"That's it, then," Elyan said at last. "That's the quest."
"Let's set up by those woods for the night," Leon replied simply.
It was too late for the lunch they'd missed and too early for dinner, but once camp was made Elyan passed around his venison and Gwaine his apples, and they ate in companionable silence. When the food was mostly gone, Percival drew a massive flask from his bag with a shaky smile.
Gwaine wasn't sure of the liquor inside it- it wasn't any of the usual suspects, maybe a regional thing- but it was strong, and that was what mattered. Gathered tight around the fire, they passed the flask between them until thoroughly warmed by the alcohol, the flames, and their own quiet company.
When he'd finally drunk enough to find his nerve, Gwaine shuffled quietly over to Percival and settled down well within arm's length. "Did you mean it?" he murmured, knowing that Percival would understand. What else could he be referring to?
"Of course."
"Oh. Damn." Gwaine found that all coherent words had fled from his mind. He'd never meant so much to somebody before, at least not for a very long time. He wasn't entirely sure what to do about it- but he hardly minded. He wrapped one arm tightly around Percival's back, and in turn he felt one of Percival's wrap around his neck; they kept them there only briefly, but Gwaine was satisfied. He scooted away a few feet and lay down, pillowing his head on his arms and sighing.
The sun had only been down a few hours when Leon stood and stretched. "I'll take the first watch, I suppose. Can hold my drink better than the lot of you anyway. Gwaine," he added, a bit threateningly. "Don't think you're getting out of second."
But when Gwaine woke hours later, it was not to Leon's voice but to the feeling of rain running down his exposed skin. He lifted his head. The field around him was drenched, lit by the strange-but-familiar yellow-grey of a storm. The steady pounding of rain filled his ears and its crisp scent filled his nose. Icy water dripped down his hair, worked its way in between the links of his chainmail; he knew he should shiver from it, but instead the coldness brought with it the feeling of a fever finally breaking.
He was strangely awake, but still it all was somehow dreamlike. He pushed himself up to his knees. Percival, Leon, and Elyan were already up, propped against trees and logs, making no efforts to seek shelter from the weather. Gwaine climbed to his feet and put his head back, letting the water run over his face, feeling as though he could weep. He suspected somehow that the others might already be doing so, but it was impossible to tell.
He wasn't sure how long he stood, but when the light of the storm finally faded, the light of dawn followed seamlessly behind.
It was Leon who finally stirred, breaking the spell that had fallen over the camp. "If we leave now, we can make Camelot before nightfall," he said quietly, beginning to gather his pack. Wordlessly, Gwaine and the others did the same. Nobody mentioned breakfast or washing, still plenty wet from the rain and also somehow satisfied by it in a way that no food could imitate.
The ride back to Camelot was quiet and quick, with breaks only for bodily functions and the brief stretching of legs. The moon had only just risen in the sky when the gate of the citadel came into view. Arthur greeted them in the main square, flanked only by Merlin. He rose from his perch on the steps as the knights dismounted, relinquishing their horses to the attendants that swarmed in from the shadows.
Arthur shook hands with Leon, then Elyan and Percival, as Gwaine pulled the prince's servant into a tight, one-armed hug.
"Well?" Merlin prompted, clapping Gwaine on the back as they released each other.
"I think it went well."
"How do you feel?"
Gwaine thought for a moment before nodding. "Good," he promised, then amended: "great." He glanced back to the others; Leon was gesturing widely as Arthur listened, nodding; Percival and Elyan were laughing uproariously at something Gwaine failed to catch.
"My work here is done," he announced with satisfaction, turning back to Merlin. He grinned. "And I am starving. Tavern?"
Merlin sighed. "Been sitting out here keeping Arthur company for an hour and I've still got to do his laundry before tomorrow." He smirked. "So yeah, tavern sounds about right. They coming?"
In an instant, Gwaine's eyes scanned over Merlin's face; his smile was genuinely welcoming but his eyes were still tired and just the slightest bit shielded. Merlin, the man whose idea this had been, who hadn't gotten to go along. Merlin, whom Gwaine would still worry about, no matter what, until the day he died.
"You know, in the past three days, I have-" he held a hand up, ticking items off with his fingers- "quested with those men, drank with those men, cried in front of those men, and told those men about my bloodline." Merlin's eyes widened. Gwaine laughed. "I think I have earned a vacation from them," he decided, slinging an arm around Merlin's shoulders.