Title: Homecoming

Series: A Quiet Understanding, part 11

Pairing: Gawain/Galahad Rating: PG

Author's Note: This series is AU; various liberties have been taken with movie-canon, particularly with chronology, and characters will be introduced who are based on characters in the legends of King Arthur.

Summary: Galahad brings Gawain home.

Riding into the valley, Galahad wearily surveyed the gathering crowd, looking for his sister. He spotted her at the same moment that she noticed him, and he knew immediately what she was thinking by the look on her face; that same unguarded, stricken expression that had burned itself into his memory eighteen years ago in the courtyard at the fortress, when she had stumbled upon him and Gawain unloading two broken bodies from a masterless horse.

Galahad nudged his weary horse into a trot, anxious to reach her as quickly as possible and assuage her fears, wipe that terrible lost expression from her face. Swinging himself down from the saddle, he gripped her shoulders, shaking her gently. "It's all right. It's all right, he's here. Wounded, but he'll live. He's in that litter over there." He gestured to the litter beside which he had been riding, then pulled Lhuned into a quick, fierce hug, as much for his own comfort as for hers. He felt a shiver run through her as she pulled herself together, and he loosed his arms about her as she stepped back out of his embrace.

"Well. Let's get him settled and seen to," she said firmly, setting off in the direction of Gawain's litter; no one who did not know her would have noticed the slight brittle edge to her voice. Galahad followed obediently, with Parsefal trailing behind; he spared a smile for the boy and bent to hug him as they reached their goal.

"Will Uncle Gawain be all right?" Parsefal whispered in Galahad's ear, careful not to let his mother hear.

Galahad forced himself to smile reassuringly, hiding the panic that still threatened to break free at any minute whenever he thought about the possibility that Gawain might not get better. "He'll be fine," he said, hoping that Parsefal was not astute enough to see through his mask. "He's got some resting and mending to do, but he'll be as good as new before you know it."

Parsefal nodded, accepting what he was told, and reached his arms out to Galahad for another hug. Galahad gave it gladly, with the definite impression that his nephew was comforting him, not the other way around.

It had been an awful few weeks. They had stayed encamped near the battlefield for a few days while Arthur and Merlin negotiated with the Saxons and the wounded began to heal. Bors had gone with Arthur, "as backup in case the mangy bastards try anything," as he put it, but Galahad had refused to leave Gawain and Arthur had wisely not pressed the issue. So Galahad had found himself spending all his time in the healers' quarters, doing what he could for Gawain but mostly trying not to get in the way.

Gawain's horse had been found wandering not far from the battlefield, and Galahad had taken on his care as well as that of his own mount, which gave him something to do, but nothing occupied him enough to take his mind off the fact that his Gawain was lying barely conscious in a tent and nobody would say whether or not he would live.

On the day after the battle Gawain had developed a mild fever which refused to break no matter what the healers did; he muttered in his delirium, calling for his brothers and for the knights lost in their service for Rome. Galahad sat by his pallet, gripping his hand and smoothing his hair out of his face, desperately hoping for some sign that his lover was returning to lucidity.

None came, and on the fifth day after the battle, when Arthur's negotiations had been concluded and the remnants of the Saxon army had sailed away, Galahad became aware of a hushed conversation between three of the healers in the corner of the tent. He deduced from the way they kept glancing over at Gawain that it in some way concerned him so he got to his feet and joined them, anxious to know what they were discussing.

"The King wishes to strike camp and make for home," the senior healer began to explain, "and we are trying to establish whether Sir Gawain is well enough to travel. His wounds are closing well, and there is no sign of infection so far, but this fever worries us. I am afraid that if we move him it will aggravate his injuries and cause him further harm."

Galahad just looked at her, trying to suppress the cold fear that threatened to overwhelm him at her words. He had been doing his best not to give in to his terror that Gawain might not recover, but too often it rose and would not be pushed away.

The healer smiled and laid a hand on his arm. "Try not to worry. We will do our best for him, and if we decide that he is not well enough to be moved, then the King and all his army will have to delay their journey. Nobody will put one of my patients at risk, not even the King himself." Her tone was firm and sympathetic all at once, and Galahad managed the tiniest of smiles in response.

"Now go on with you, see to those horses or something while we change his dressings. And try not to worry," she repeated, and shooed him out of the tent.

Galahad did as he was told and saw to the horses, then he wandered aimlessly through the camp for a while. At home in the settlement, he would have sought refuge in the woods or on the hills, but there was nowhere here; the countryside extended, flat and featureless, for as far as the eye could see. Bors and Arthur were nowhere to be seen, and eventually he went back to the tent. The healers had finished with Gawain, so Galahad settled himself by the pallet again.

Two more days passed; Galahad suspected that the healers had had a word with Arthur, who would not have dreamed of endangering one of his oldest friends if he knew the full story. They had tried everything to bring Gawain's fever down, but so far to no avail. Eventually they had given Galahad a bucket of clean water and set him the task of trying to get Gawain to drink something and sponging him with cold cloths; they had all realised how anxious Galahad was, and reasoned that giving him something to do might help.

It was mid-afternoon when Galahad noticed that Gawain's skin was no longer burning hot to the touch, and his breathing no longer rasped harshly but seemed to be settling into a deep, even rhythm. He smoothed the hair back from Gawain's forehead and paused, thinking he saw Gawain's eyelids flutter. It did not happen again for a moment, and Galahad was about to tell himself that he must have imagined it when Gawain blinked slowly and opened his eyes.

"Galahad?" he whispered, his voice dry and cracked, and Galahad reached for a cup to dip into the bucket of water. He tilted it gently to Gawain's lips, and Gawain drank gratefully.

"How are you feeling?" Galahad asked tentatively.

"Hurts," said Gawain. "My shoulder. And my back. Can't remember...I fell off my horse. And then nothing."

Hope leapt in Galahad's heart; Gawain sounded lucid, at least, and it seemed as though the fever had finally burned itself out. "You fell, and one of them nearly spitted you. Lucky you rolled out of the way and he only caught your back. I got him for you."

Gawain smiled tiredly. "Thanks. Where would I be without you?"

Galahad smiled too, but did not answer; it did not bear thinking about. "You've been sleeping since then. That, and feverish. Hence the cold cloths." He lifted one so that Gawain could see it, and was gratified to see the smallest twinkle of amusement in his lover's eyes.

"That would explain a lot," said Gawain, a twinge of pain flitting across his face. "I thought I walked beside my brothers."

"Not quite," Galahad replied, trying to silence the voice of fear in his heart. "Not yet."

"So when are we going home?" Gawain asked, changing the subject.

"Not until you're well enough to travel," Galahad told him, offering him the cup of water again. Gawain drank deeply and then spoke again.

"Probably for the best. Lhuned will most likely kill me for getting myself wounded as it is. Might as well wait until I'm well enough to stand up to her, at least a little bit." His tone was dry, and Galahad marvelled that he could make a joke of it so soon.

Gawain raised a hand weakly, and tried to reach for Galahad; he did not quite have the strength, but Galahad moved to sit upon the pallet, stretching his legs out and easing Gawain's head onto his lap. Gawain managed to shift a little, getting comfortable, and turned his cheek into Galahad's touch as Galahad stroked his hair out of his face, fingers trailing down his cheek.

"Sleepy," murmured Gawain, his eyes fluttering closed, and Galahad listened anxiously as his breathing deepened, only relaxing when it became apparent that Gawain was indeed sleeping his first true sleep since the day of the battle.

Two days after that, the healers deemed him just about fit enough to travel, and the army set off, moving slowly across the miles, their progress hampered by the litters they carried bearing their wounded. The leaves were falling, and for the first time Galahad realised how long they had been away. Poor Lhuned would most likely have worried herself away inside by now, he mused; she would have closed herself off again, to everyone except Parsefal, at least, trying to shut the pain away inside. Poor girl. And here he was, bringing her beloved brother home, sorely wounded and not necessarily certain to live...but he would not think about that part; he could not. The terror rose again and he had to bite it back, force it down, staring grimly straight ahead and gripping the reins of his horse so tightly that he could feel his fingernails digging into his palms. The pain helped him focus on the present, and in a moment he felt calm enough to turn his head and glance at the litter in which Gawain was riding. The makeshift curtains (made of the cloaks of dead men, but Galahad would not think about that) were drawn back today, since the sun was shining, and he could see his lover clearly, see his face drawn and pinched with pain; but when Gawain looked over at him he flashed a grin that lit Galahad's world so brightly that for a moment his fear was forgotten and he could not help but smile back.

They stopped once in an apple orchard, abandoned by its owners in the face of the Saxon horde yet not looted, for the raiders had been defeated before they had got that far. Arthur ordered the army to halt and everyone picked as many apples as they could carry. Galahad sat beside Gawain's litter, placed under the shade of an apple tree, and quartered one of the fruit with his dagger, paring away the core and handing the pieces to Gawain one by one. Gawain had been quite vocal on the subject of being treated like an invalid, and had been extremely displeased at being told that he would have to ride home in a litter rather than on his horse, but when Galahad was around he was less agitated and submitted meekly to being fed and looked after - for the most part, at least.

"How are you feeling?" Galahad enquired tentatively, once Gawain had eaten his way through half the apple.

"Sore." Gawain scowled. "Fed up, and wishing we were at home."

Galahad nodded sympathetically. "I would give an awful lot to sleep in our own bed." /And for you to be healed and well again,/ he thought, but he did not speak the thought aloud.

"So would I," said Gawain, with feeling. "Now, let me have the rest of that apple before it goes brown, and perhaps we can get on the road again. The more I think about it, the more I reckon even Lhuned's worst scolding would be better than travelling in this bloody litter."

"I think you're right there," said Galahad with a smile, holding out the remaining apple quarters for Gawain to take. "It's bad enough on horseback - I can't imagine how bored you must be."

"More bored than I've ever been," said Gawain. "I'm entertaining myself by trying to imagine how much young Parsefal has grown up since we've been away. In my mind's eye he's looking more and more like the bastard offspring of Lancelot and Gareth every day." He grinned, and Galahad could not help but grin back.

"Now that's a frightening thought. Not least because Lhuned would likely have your hide for suggesting she had nothing to do with his creation."

They both laughed at that, and Galahad allowed himself a rare moment of hope, that everything might perhaps be all right. He was holding out hope, he realised, that Lhuned would be able to make it all better. She was no healer, he knew, but she had never failed at any task put before her, even the raising with utter adoration of the son of a knight who was not the one she loved; surely she could not fail at this.

And so, when they finally reached home, Galahad hung back and let Lhuned take everything in hand and felt his fear and terror lessen just a little. She installed Gawain in his own bed and proceeded to care for him with the same determination she applied to everything else, accepting help from Galahad and from Arthur's healers when she needed it but not hesitating to shoo them all out if she felt they were getting in the way. Gawain seemed as glad to see his sister again as Galahad was, and very slowly he began to get better; the inevitable worsening in his condition caused by the long journey home reversed and he began to improve. He was not out of the woods yet, but it seemed that he could at least see the light beyond the trees.

This is as far as I got before the muses deserted me sometime in 2005. However, on rereading it, I think I could tie it up with one or two more chapters, so if inspiration strikes then this story will at last be finished. :)