A TRICK OF THE LIGHT

Chapter Twenty Eight

"When you walk through a storm,
hold your head up high,
and don't be afraid of the dark."
('You'll Never Walk Alone' from Carousel by Rogers and Hammerstein)

-x0x-

"I think… I might… have made… a huge mistake."

It was a hateful thought. Gwaine would be the first to admit that he made mistakes all the time and yet he would never get used to the sick, cold feeling in his gut that heralded each new disaster. Good intentions were seductive. Sometimes, his luck held. More often than not, he found himself already halfway down the road to hell.

Only this time, it seemed, hell had come forth to greet him.

To make matters worse, here was Percival suffering by his side. Better to have no friends at all than to risk them as I do, Gwaine chided himself fiercely. He was angry at the knight for choosing to come with him – and, at the same time, hopelessly grateful. One more point against him, no doubt, in the grand, fateful scheme of things.

"What mistake is… that?" countered Percival, spitting rain with every syllable.

Startled, Gwaine laughed out loud. The storm tore the bright sound away from his lips as though it could not bear even one tiny mote of cheerfulness to exist within the maelstrom of its temper. Still, the feeling remained, and it warmed him.

Day and night were long forgotten. The world was grey and cold around them. Gwaine had lost all sense of time and place five minutes after they left the safety of the cave. Turning back was impossible. Pest was their lifeline now, and led the way with surprising courage. Gwaine tried to keep the image of Camelot foremost in his mind. Perhaps the little wisp could see it. Camelot, Gwaine urged. Safety. Home. The words were a mantra. In between his heavy bouts of self-reproach, they kept him sane.

If this was nature's war upon mankind then the storm was an aggressive marshal, sending volley after volley to assail them; first hail, then rain, then freezing flakes of snow that settled on the ground and began to pile up in a way that was most alarming. Gwaine's feet were leaden. Numbness was looming. He dragged them along, one after the other, his calf muscles screaming with the effort.

Percival stepped behind him to become a human shield once more, the broadness of his back now taking the brunt of the cruel wind that sought to drive them from their path. Gwaine turned his head with an effort and tried to glower at the knight for being so ridiculously selfless. Tears were streaming from his eyes – one more trick of the wind, he reasoned hastily. He dashed them away before they turned to ice upon his cheeks and scored their tracks forever through his tender skin, a mark of shame and weakness.

"If we die here…" he began.

Percival shook his head mutely: not going to happen.

"If we die here," Gwaine insisted, "I want you to know…" He was so very bad at the mushy side of friendship. Words of gratitude stuck in his throat as he tried to continue.

"Wait!" This time, Percival held up his hand, halting suddenly.

"Please," said Gwaine. "Let me…"

"No!" The tall knight grinned that easy grin of his; the one that made everything feel so much better. "Listen, you dunderhead. What can you hear?"

"Aside from… this delicate breeze?" Gwaine closed his eyes and concentrated, trying to pick out the different sounds within the turbulent whole. The wind, of course; that one was obvious. Snow lashing past his ears and pounding within that told him how quickly his heart was beating. And, behind the wind, a creaking… "There!" he cried in triumph. "I can hear it."

"Trees?" said Percival.

"Yes, trees," Gwaine echoed happily, wishing his face were a little less numb so that he, too, could smile.

-x0x-

The forest was no stronghold. Nevertheless, the over-arching branches formed a barrier of sorts between the weather and the weary knights. Already, the snowfall was trickling through, like dust motes falling from an ancient ceiling, but the way ahead was clear for now and the knights felt their spirits lifting.

Gwaine turned to Percival. "Dunderhead?" he said with feeling.

Percival shrugged. "I speak as I find," he retorted. There was a twinkle in his eye, but a hint of concern in his voice as he continued: "Think you can make it?"

"Why? Are you offering to carry me again?" Gwaine slapped him on the back. "Been there, done that – don't plan to repeat it." The lie followed smoothly. "I'm fine. I'll make it. Stop worrying."

Pest circled overhead, enjoying the moment. "Helpful little fellow, that new friend of yours," said Percival. "And he talks less than you do. I like him."

"Funny man." Gwaine wrapped his sodden cloak tightly around himself and stared along the dark path. "Is this the way we came? It looks different somehow."

"That's because the light is strange. But the trees are the same. I recognise them."

"You recognise the trees?"

"So would you, if you paid more attention. Come on," said Percival, showing the first sign of urgency he had displayed since they left the others. "It's safe enough for now, but I don't think that's going to last." He gestured to a silver birch nearby. Already, its roots were lifting from the sodden ground as the wind raged through its upper branches and its pale trunk moved from side to side.

"Like a loose tooth," Gwaine murmured, finding the image disturbing. "You think the trees might fall on us?"

"I think we ought to hurry," was the only thing that Percival admitted.

-x0x-

They walked on for such a long time that both men sank into a kind of dream-state. One step followed another along the white path, while the trees roared above them, a fearful sound that spoke of the power beyond. Debris littered their way; branches, leaves, and sometimes even a fallen trunk that blocked the path entirely. Fearful of losing their way by walking around, they climbed over. This was a slippery process that involved a lot of pushing and pulling on Percival's behalf, and many an awkward landing for Gwaine. "Why is it always me?" he grumbled, rising from the mud and snow for the third time in a row, his pride and his rear sorely dented.

"It's not always you." Percival shrugged. "Sometimes, it's Merlin."

Merlin. "I wish he was here. At least he would show me some sympathy."

"I'm sympathetic."

"Smirking isn't sympathy." Gwaine slapped away the knight's proffered hand and scrambled to his feet once more.

"Point taken. Tell you what. I'll be sorry for your pratfall if you apologise for kicking me in the face just now when I helped you over."

The two knights glared at each other, their fists clenched. Gwaine swallowed. Something was all too familiar here. "Wait," he said. "Stop. Are we arguing?"

"You are."

"I'm not… hey! Come on, now," he insisted. "I've felt this way before. Back in Fallow, when we met the baker. Leon and I… well, you missed it, but there was a moment when I could have knocked his block off. This storm is wicked. It messes with your head." Taking a deep breath, he held out his hand in repentance. "I'm sorry, Percival."

Without hesitation, the tall knight avoided his palm and grasped his arm instead. Gwaine did likewise. They shared a manly handshake, then drew apart, feeling rather self-conscious. Even Gwaine was lost for words by now. "Shall we…?"

Percival nodded quickly. Nearby, the wisp was jiggling. "You think he's laughing at us?"

"Oh, I know he is," Gwaine sighed. "Pest by name and pest by nature…"

-x0x-

Little by little, the grey light deepened and the Darkling Woods began to live up to their name. Only the wisp and the white snow underfoot saved the two men from losing their way altogether.

Gwaine was in the lead. He had struck up a one-sided conversation with Pest, recounting the best of his adventures. Percival had heard the stories many times before and so he hung back, feigning an unconvincing need for solitude. Meanwhile, the storm railed on above them. Lightning flashed beyond the trees, and thunder rumbled. Then Gwaine heard it; the mightiest groan of all… and a crash, combined with a broken yell, that shook the ground and made his blood run cold. Afraid to look behind him, he knew what he would see and yet he hoped with all his might that it would not be so.

"Is it bad?" he whispered.

Pest quivered unhappily. Sick with dread, the knight forced his frozen limbs to move at last and spun to find Percival.

There lay the knight, cold and silent by now, with his leg pinned under a heavy branch. The branch belonged to a fallen tree so large that no man, be he ever so strong, could move it on his own. A ragged cry tore from Gwaine's throat. He flung himself down on his knees by his friend, searching for signs of life. Those signs were faint; a tiny cloud of frozen breath, rising into the night air, and an almost imperceptible rise and fall of the knight's chest. Small mercies.

"Damn you!" Gwaine berated the storm above his head in rage and helplessness. "Haven't you done enough? What am I going to do now?" There was no thought of leaving – and help was so many miles away that even Pest would not be able to fetch it this time. Gwaine pulled and twisted at the branch with his bare hands, tearing the skin on his fingers and straining the stitches that held his wounds together. "Percival!" he screamed, against the rising wind. "Wake up and help me, man! Somebody, help me…" He fell back in despair.

Then a miracle happened.

Through his body, he could feel the pounding of a horse approaching. Snow sheared outwards as the hooves stumbled to a halt beside him. Gwaine looked up – and found himself staring in shock at the blessed, familiar face of his best friend; a wish made solid. "Merlin? Is it really you? What on earth are you doing here?"

"That is a very long story." Arthur reined in behind his servant and dismounted with alacrity. "As is yours, no doubt. But I think we can save them both for later." His sharp eyes were already studying the problem of the fallen tree. Merlin, meanwhile, had gone straight to the trapped knight, with one quick smile of relief for Gwaine in passing.

"Yes – to be told in the tavern," Gwaine said faintly. Luck had finally overwhelmed him. "I'm going to need a very large drink when we get back to Camelot."

"Make that… two," croaked Percival, much to everyone's delight. "Hello, Arthur. Hello, Merlin. Nice of you… to join us. I'm enjoying… the small talk, but I'd be even more grateful if someone could… get me out of… here."

"On it," said Arthur, distractedly.

The rest of them waited. Around them, the snow fell. Pest and the huddle of wisps that seemed to have tagged along with Merlin and Arthur played a silent game of skip-the-flakes.

"Or, you know," said Merlin, after an appropriate pause; "we could use the axe that I brought with me."

Three pairs of eyes swivelled to stare at him. "No rope," said Arthur, full of disbelief, "but you brought an axe?"

"Be prepared, you said," Merlin protested.

"Yes," the king relented, smugly. "Yes, I did. And, as you can see, Merlin, I was right."