When Gwaine's breathing evened out again—still labored, but he was definitely sleeping—Merlin pulled him back to the blankets where he'd been resting and covered him up so he'd stay warm. Then he retreated to the fire, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders and letting his eyes drift shut, because he just couldn't stay awake anymore. He needed the safe haven of thoughtless sleep.

He didn't realize he'd toppled over to his side until a very loud noise awoke him. He sat up in a flurry of flailing limbs and tangled blanket to see men storming the camp. One was coming right at him, weapon raised, and his eyes flashed gold.

Nothing happened. Oh, right, because magic still wasn't working reliably. Merlin scrambled back, holding his arms up to shield himself, suffering from a sudden and terrifying sense of déjà vu, except that this time, there was no Gwaine to come to his rescue, and in a split second, he realized he had no idea where Percival had gone either.

The noise jolted Percival out of—whatever it was he'd been in, it wasn't sleep, but it wasn't not-sleep either. He realized the noise was coming from the little camp he'd set up and at the same time he realized he'd left Merlin and Gwaine unprotected. Guilt and recrimination flooded in along with rage and anger and it was with a hideous scream of pent up rage and despair that he burst out of the darkness and onto the first of the would-be bandits preparing to attack Merlin.

Gwaine started awake blurrily to the sound of fighting, only he was back to not being able to see again, apparently, and his attempt to move after the initial jolt was fruitless, and he experienced a stab of fear where he thought he no longer had the ability to feel. What was going on? "Merlin? Percival!" he cried, but he wasn't sure any of it got out.

Percival carved his way through the bandits, only vaguely aware that he was screaming the whole time. Forgetting his training, he used nothing but brute strength to cut down the men who would hurt Merlin and Gwaine.

He didn't know how long it took, it could have been seconds, or years, but eventually there were no more enemies and he stood in front of the shelter, an enormous blood spattered figure looming out of the dark. "Are you okay? Are you both okay?" He asked Merlin, not bothering to wipe the blood that ran down his face as he fought to get his breath back.

Merlin scrambled over to Gwaine while Percival took care of the entire crew of bandits. Silence had fallen before he could even register what was going on—well, relative silence, since Percival was looming just outside the shelter and asking if they were okay. Merlin blinked at him in shock.

"I... yes. We're okay. Is any of that yours?" Merlin asked, inching out from the shelter and looking at the blood that was spattered all over Percival.

"What? Hmm, no." Percival looked at the blood and then dismissed it as unimportant. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left you. Either of you." He found himself stammering out the apology. He'd been selfish and worse, a coward. He didn't deserve to wear the cloak of Camelot.

And then sight came back, just in time for Gwaine to see Percival— "Oh. My. God," he said deliriously, blinking at the bodies all around them and for the first time more than a little terrified of Percival. "You, um." It was clear Percival wasn't okay, so he didn't ask. "C'mere," he said instead, holding out his hand toward Percival.

Percival looked at the hand Gwaine was holding out, and he didn't want to take it, he didn't. Gwaine had given up on them, on him. Gwaine was going to make him watch him die. But eventually, reluctantly, for Gwaine, because he was dying and Percival was going to fake being okay for his sake until that happened, he took the hand.

"Thank you," Gwaine said, his eyes boring into Percival's as he crushed his hand with the last reserves of his strength. "For everything." He held that gaze a little longer before, "Now don't go joining me sooner than you're supposed to," he said, a grim smile on his face. "Because until then, I need you to watch out for Merlin for me, okay?" He'd given up trying not to cry.

Percival wanted to scream all over again, to tell Gwaine that he could bloody well look after Merlin and it wasn't fair to leave him like this, but he nodded wordlessly and sat down next to Gwaine.

"I'm sorry, Perce," Gwaine said. Nothing else mattered. "You don't have to forgive me now, or ever." But he shrugged. "I'm sorry."

Percival just shook his head and moved back behind Gwaine, gathering him close again, never mind the blood. "Nothing to apologize for, nothing..." he told Gwaine, cushioning his head against his shoulder.

There was, there was worlds to apologize for, but Gwaine accepted the comfort anyway.

...

"Sorry for leaving you last night," Percival said the next morning as he and Merlin set about packing up the camp. "Won't happen again."

"It's all right, Percival," Merlin insisted. You didn't know, he wanted to add, and we all need our time to grieve, but it seemed to him that that would only make everything worse, so he kept silent.

"What—" Percival started to say, choked, swallowed, took a moment to regain his composure, and started again. "What are we going to do now?"

"Well," Merlin said. He'd often complained to Arthur that he was the only practical one ever, and true to form, he had been thinking about this. It didn't matter to find the Druids or find the Cup now, and it didn't do to let Gwaine die out in the open like this, so they might as well head back. They weren't far from Camelot, and he could be more comfortable there. "I think we should go back. I think Camelot's the only home Gwaine's ever really known, so—" he trailed off, and shrugged.

Percival nodded. He really was putting forth a valiant effort not to break down, but Merlin didn't know how long this would last. "I'll get the horses ready, then," he said.