Title: Catharsis
Author: dealiberty
Pairing: Gawain/Galahad, Arthur/Lancelot
Rating: R
Dedication: For eudaimon, for being you.
A/N: This fic is complete. A chapter will be posted twice a week, on Fridays and Tuesdays. Thanks to both eudaimon and trinityc for the endless support you've given me.

He goes through the routines, a certain detachment about every action, like he's watching himself go through the motions, not really there at all.

He doesn't eat. He doesn't sleep. He doesn't speak.

He doesn't feel. He is completely numb.

It's been a week. And still no word from Gawain.

One whole week.

Distantly, he knows that Lancelot's watching his every move. They take it in turns, Arthur and Lancelot, to try to coax him to eat a little, sleep a little, talk a little - to do something that's not just staring blankly straight ahead.

When he's ordered to do his duties, he does so without a single word. Or a single flicker of emotion.

And Lancelot watches him.

He knows he should care, that he should feel something about being so closely monitored, like a child, as if he'll do something stupid, but the truth is he just doesn't. He can't seem to bring himself to care about anything. Apart from Gawain.

One whole week.

He's sitting in the stables when he hears hoof beats - and he springs up, praying its Gawain. Lancelot is on his feet too, at the stable door, looking out.

But his shoulders are slumped - and Galahad knows it's not Gawain.

He sinks back into the hay, trying to stop defeat from permeating his soul - and his soul sinks back into darkness.

It's not Gawain.

He doesn't notice his surroundings until a shadow falls on him; a silhouette in the door of the stable, the sunrise as his canvas.

And Galahad's dead eyes rise to meet Tristan's bright ones.

Tristan cannot help but start at the complete emptiness - the defeat - he sees in those usually brilliant and fiery depths.

For a few minutes, he's at loss for words. Lancelot had not said much to him at the door - except beg him to just do something and pointed him in this direction.

He wasn't expecting this. But he now understands the desperation in Lancelot's voice.

No one's heart could possibly beat steadily upon seeing a bright flame such as Galahad so dull, and Lancelot had watched it flicker and die.

"Tristan, just make him DO something. Please."

Tristan steels himself. Why him? Why not Gawain? In fact, where was Gawain and how could he have left Galahad whilst he's like this?

"Galahad." Still nothing. Not even a flicker of recognition. "Galahad," he tries again, more force behind his voice. He leans down so that they're eye-level and slaps Galahad lightly on the cheek.

Finally, the eyes seem to focus on him.

"Where's Gawain?" Straight to the point. If there's one thing that would get a reaction out of Galahad, it's Gawain's name.

"Gone." It's nothing more than a murmur but, according to Lancelot, it was a murmur more than anyone else had gotten out of him.

"Gone."

"What?" It takes a few minutes for Tristan to process the word, and then he's shaking Galahad roughly by the shoulders.

Galahad's not even putting up a fight but just simply letting Tristan shake him like a rag doll.

"Gone. East." The tears flow, and Galahad's still looking just as lifeless as a rag doll.

East.

"Galahad. No. No. Please tell me he didn't go alone. Tell me you didn't let him go alone." Tristan's shaking is getting desperate now, his fingers digging into Galahad's shoulders so hard that it's going to leave bruises - but Galahad's still not responding.

He's wordlessly mouthing the words. No sound leaves his lips but the words are as clear to Tristan as thunder.

East. Alone.

"How long, Galahad? Tell me how long he's been gone."

East. Alone. One whole week.

Each question Tristan asks gets a silent answer and the muted mantra gets a few words longer.

One week.

"Oh Gods." Tristan abruptly lets go of Galahad, the momentum making the youth land roughly in the hay, Tristan's anger and helplessness making him push a little harder than he meant to. "Oh Gods."

"He's gone, Tristan. Gawain's gone." It's a whimper and Galahad's shuddering without Tristan even touching him. Galahad is breaking all over again.

And Tristan's control finally snaps.

"Galahad, you fool," he shouts, his own fear making take out his anger on the younger knight. Distantly, he realises he's not helping, and that Galahad's really done nothing wrong. Distantly he knows that there'll be hell to pay later.

He usually never loses control, but this time, Tristan's too far gone to stop.

"You absolute fool! What are you doing still here? Why has no one gone after him? Why are you sitting here feeling sorry for yourself?" He throws his hands up in exasperation as Galahad continues to rock a little, but those eyes are focused on him now, rather than looking through him. "Self-pity will not save Gawain's life. Have you so little faith in him? Do you think he will die so easily?"

Now, Galahad's trying to protest, trying to defend himself - and Tristan can see the self-loathing, the anger start to kindle in those brilliant eyes.

Anger at himself. Anger at him. And Tristan realises that he's done what Lancelot asked: he's got Galahad to do something - even if it's probably not what Lancelot had in mind.

"Grab your weapons, Galahad. You're the only one who can bring Gawain back alive."

Each word Tristan shouts at him hits Galahad like a slap to the face, making his head spin and his world turn.

"Self-pity will not save Gawain's life."

"Have you so little faith in him?"

"You're the only one who can bring Gawain back alive."

And Tristan's already off to find Arthur, turning around only to shout at him.

"Get up, Galahad. Get up and prepare."

It's pure, blind luck that brings Percival, with Bors and Dagonet behind him, back home just as they're preparing to leave. They don't stop for supplies or to give their horses some rest, but just join the formation of knights, ready to go out and aid their brothers.

Tristan rides on ahead, making sure the path is clear, that this isn't another trap. He's back in control, ice-cold and sending chilling glances in Galahad's direction.

And Galahad rides between Arthur and Lancelot.

His mind is a mess and, if Lancelot had had it his way, he would still be back in his room. But Tristan had insisted and Tristan had been in one of those moods.

And he had mentioned the fact that Gawain would do anything for Galahad - even if it's not dying.

And Arthur had relented.

They ride hard and fast and it does not take more than two days to get to village. The rumoured shrine lies over the hills, just outside the forests - how had they not seen the potential for attack before?

But two days is more than enough for Galahad to dig himself into a hole of self-loathing.

Foolish.

Useless.

Not worthy.

He thinks he's failed Gawain. He didn't go after Gawain. He didn't have faith in Gawain. He didn't do anything, just sat around, dying inside. He hadn't even tried. And he didn't deserve Gawain's devotion, Gawain's love. He didn't deserve Gawain.

Gawain shouldn't love him, shouldn't care about him.

But it doesn't change the fact that Gawain is his world.

And he'd needed Tristan to remind him of his duties.

If Gawain dies, it will be Galahad's fault.

They ride through the village, ignoring the fearful faces and worried glances, ignoring the pleading and weeping and eyes peaking out of shuttered windows - ignoring everything but the need to reach their comrades.

When they finally get there, they can only stop - and stare.

Galahad's off his horse and flying towards the centre of the ruins, sobbing Gawain's name before either Arthur or Lancelot can stop him - before they even register him moving.

Gawain's body is covered in blood - so much blood, so many wounds that someone other than Galahad might not even recognise him. He's been stripped of clothing and tied to a cross on the ground, arms spread wide, in mockery of Arthur's god.

And his axe has been placed just out of reach.

His wrist is chafed raw, testimony that, whatever had been done to him, Gawain had never given up, never cried for mercy, never begged.

Whatever had happened, Gawain had wanted to live.

Galahad drops to his knees by Gawain's side, fingers automatically searching for a pulse, eyes looking for a heartbeat and ears straining to hear Gawain's breathing.

He's never prayed before but the sight of Gawain like this is enough to have him pleading to a god - any god - to spare Gawain. To let Gawain live.

Gawain didn't need to love him anymore, Gawain just needed to be alive.

He's so relieved to see the rise and fall of Gawain's chest and feel his beating pulse that tears come, unbidden, to his eyes and he's almost hyperventilating.

His hands shake like they've never done before as he undoes the ropes binding Gawain, all the while whispering his name like a prayer. And begging like he's never begged in his life.

Be alright. Please, be okay. You don't have to love me. You don't have to care about someone as worthless as me. Just be okay. Just live Gawain. Live...

Once he's finally got Gawain's hands free, he moves his own to cup Gawain's face lightly. His fingers drift slowly over Gawain's cheek - he's still warm - and tears spill onto his hand, onto Gawain's cheek.

And Gawain's eyes flutter open.

"Galahad."

It's a sigh, no more than a breath passing through parched lips, but for Galahad, someone who's been craving to hear that voice for over a week, it's as loud as Bors' war cry.

But much, much more beautiful.

Galahad's eyes widen and then he's babbling again.

"I'm sorry Gawain, I'm so, so sorry. I'm so worthless...I was just...I...I...You don't have to...just..." His voice breaks and his breath hitches and he can't seem to form complete sentences. "Please don't leave me. Please don't die. Don't go. Please. Don't leave me...Please..."

Gawain leans a little into Galahad's touch, eyes drifting shut, overcome by exhaustion. His throat it raw and his voice rough from something Galahad doesn't want to think about, but the one that Gawain whispers, Galahad thinks, might be the most wonderful thing he's ever heard.

"Never."

And this time, Galahad has faith.

Tristan reappears from the surrounding woods just as Galahad begins to untie Gawain's bound wrists.

By the relief Tristan can see in the way Galahad's hands are shaking, the desperation to get Gawain loose, Tristan knows that Gawain's alive.

He still lives. He's still breathing. His heart is still beating.

He's alive and that's all that matters.

Tristan lets out a breath he hadn't know he's been holding and tears his eyes away from their reunion.

Gawain's seen Galahad. Gawain knows Galahad still needs him. Gawain will live.

He can see Arthur bending over Dinidan's abused body. It's been speared to the ground at the shoulder and Dinidan's eyes are opened wide in horror.

And Lancelot closes those eyes for the last time.

Tristan's eyes then seek out Kay. And when they finally land on his battered body, Tristan almost wishes he'd never looked.

Bors and Dagonet untie him from what looks like a ceremonial altar - and Tristan looks back to Gawain and Galahad.

And thanks Fate that Gawain is still alive.

He is about to say that Gawain is lucky, but he's not so sure. Dinidan and Kay look like they'd died quickly and Gawain - Tristan doesn't like the look of the injuries Gawain has.

And Tristan doesn't like the thought that Gawain had been made to lie useless as Dinidan and Kay died, as the Woads tortured - as Tristan doesn't doubt they did - both them and Gawain himself - that Gawain had been left there to die slowly as a message to Arthur.

Arthur's standing completely still, eyes huge with dismay, and Lancelot has his head bowed, shaking with anger and horror and lost, and Tristan approaches them.

"It's all clear. No one's here. They must have attacked - and left." Arthur nods, still staring around, horrified.

"I...Tristan...I...don't know what...I can't..."

"I know, Arthur. We all know."

And Tristan lets his eyes rest on the pair in the centre of destruction clinging onto hope, fixed on the image that is somehow so beautiful, like a painting, on such a bloody background, until Dagonet arrives to help.