Title: Catharsis
Author: dealiberty
Pairing: Gawain/Galahad, Arthur/Lancelot
Rating: PG-13
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 doesn't know what to do - what he can do - to help. He hovers by Gawain's head as Tristan, Dagonet and some Roman surgeon clean Gawain up.

Each wound that's revealed, each wound under the blood, makes Galahad feel more and more sick. This shouldn't have happened to Gawain. Not out there, bound and suffering. Not out there, watching Dinidan and Kay die. Not without Galahad.

It was Galahad's fault.

He didn't do anything - just sat and sank into depression because he'd lost Gawain. And now, he might lose him forever.

He shakes that last thought from his head.

Gawain had promised he'd stay alive. He'd promised to live. And Galahad has faith.

Once they finish cleaning and patching him up, Dagonet pats Galahad lightly on the head and the surgeon leaves.

"He'll be alright," Dagonet tells him. "He's strong."

Galahad nods, trying to stop the tears from falling.

The others don't know what to say. They're still there, Arthur and Lancelot and Tristan, but none of them know what to say or how to comfort him. They'd always left that to Gawain.

Without Gawain, none of them are sure how to handle Galahad at all - especially when the Galahad they're used to dealing with isn't a sobbing mess of a boy.

Still so young. Galahad's still so young.

Arthur shakes his head, stands up and gives a glance filled with meaning to Lancelot and walks out; Lancelot is following him before the door's even closed.

Lancelot will be there when Arthur breaks - he'll be there to pick up the pieces and put them together again.

Whereas Galahad....

Dagonet gives him one final pat on the head and he too leaves.

Galahad's still broken.

The touch on the chin is surprisingly gentle for Tristan, and Galahad looks up to see the other man hovering near him.

"Watch him for a while," he says. "I'll come back later to change the bandages." And he too disappears.

Galahad sits with his head in his hands, eyes closed, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill - again. He doesn't want to cry. He wants to be strong for Gawain. But the sight of Gawain so abused, so harmed - not broken, never broken - is just too much for him. And he lets the tears fall.

Useless. So useless. And so worthless. Unworthy. Undeserving.

It's not long before he's on his knees by Gawain's bed, clasping Gawain's hand - and sobbing his heart out.

"Don't die Gawain. Don't go. Please. Please don't go. You don't have to...you don't have to love me. You don't even have to care about me. Just don't leave me alone. Don't die..."

He stays there whispering his quiet mantra like a prayer to the only thing he's ever had faith in: Gawain.

That is how Tristan finds him hours later: on his knees, head on Gawain's bed, hand in Gawain's.

Tristan sighs, pausing at the door.

Sometimes, he tries to convince himself that he doesn't care for the pup. Really. But at times like this - sometimes - he's not so sure.

And he doesn't quite like the implications of that thought.

There's a presence behind him and it takes him longer than usual to realise that it's Arthur, who pauses at the door as well, staring in at the heartbreaking sight inside.

"Galahad," Arthur says, moving into the room. "Go and bathe, eat and sleep."

Tristan thinks it's meant to be an order, but it comes out as more of a request and Galahad begins to argue.

"Don't Galahad. Don't argue." He takes one step into the room and Galahad's gaze levels on him, shooting daggers. He ignores the glare and plays to Galahad's weakness. "Gawain's not going to be happy when he wakes up and you look like you're half dead; Gawain, certainly, won't be pleased."

His tone is cold - colder than he'd like - but he knows it's the only way to make Galahad do anything.

And he's willing to play the bad guy if it means....

Galahad, half storms out of the room - half, because he's still reluctant to leave Gawain's side, but he's too angry at Tristan, too afraid that Tristan's words would be true to stay.

Arthur gives him a smile of reluctant thanks; not happy with the method but glad for the result.

"I'll change the bandages," he informs Arthur, turning back to Gawain's bed. "Then I'll watch him until Galahad comes back. It's too much to hope that he'll be gone too long."

Arthur nods; loath as he is to do them, Arthur knows there are other things he needs to attend to - like Dinidan's and Kay's funerals.

When Arthur leaves, Tristan drops lightly to his knees beside Gawain.

"You fool, Gawain," he whispers, voice shaking a little before he can steady it. "You absolute, total and utter fool."

He's drifting somewhere between consciousness and sleep.

Sometimes, he can hear Galahad's begging, his tears, his pain, but then, before Gawain can comfort him, he's drawn back under again.

But each time, he's coming closer and closer to the surface.

When his eyes finally flutter open, there's a face watching him. Those eyes widen slightly with shock, which is followed by a look of such complete relief that Gawain's a little stunned - and then the owner is gone, and Gawain hears the door opening.

It takes him a few more minutes, listening to the retreating footsteps, to realise that the face was Tristan's.

Tristan's back.

Then he hears the sound of running feet on stone and the door bursts open. The next thing he knows, the bed's dipped and Galahad's attached to his arms, tears flowing freely, babbling out a stream of words that Gawain can't quite get his head around.

Slowly, stiff and bruised, Gawain tugs at Galahad, wanting to see those beautiful eyes, that dazzling smile on the adored face that kept him alive and whole and trying on those endlessly pain-filled days.

And it's only when Galahad raises his face to him that Gawain can make out what he's saying.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Gawain. I'm sorry. So worthless. So useless. So unworthy. So undeserving. You don't have to love me. You don't have to care. Just be here. Just don't leave me. Just...."

And Gawain kisses him. Galahad kisses him back as desperately as a man, in a desert, drinks water.

When they part, Galahad is flushed and breathing hard and he lets his head rest lightly on Gawain's shoulder, leaving small trails of light kisses on his neck.

Gawain slowly, agonisingly shifts slightly sideways, wincing at the pain, to make room for Galahad. He doesn't get too far but Galahad's small enough to fit, moulding right into his side like a kitten curling to its mother, but so carefully, painfully aware of Gawain's injuries.

And Gawain feels as if he's finally come home.

He gives small contented sigh and rests his head atop of Galahad's.

It's been worth it. Being back here, Galahad falling asleep in his arms - it makes it all worth it. Worth the fact that he had been tortured because he'd refused to beg for death, refused to give up, refused to break.

Because the thought that he'd never see Galahad again hurt far more than any torture they could inflict on him.

"Break my body, but you'll never break my soul."

He'd spat the words at the Woads, repeated it like a mantra, like his lifeline, as they'd tied him excruciatingly tightly to the cross. And he'd been telling the truth. They could never break his soul as long as its keeper was safe. And it had made them angry - they had wanted Arthur to find him broken.

He closes his eyes and wills away the memories. Not now. Not with Galahad sleeping lightly in his arms. He would not think of them.

He hears the door opening and closing, and then Arthur's face is in his line of vision.

"You're supposed to be sleeping, Gawain." He scolds lightly before sending Galahad a fond look and a relieved smile. "I'm glad at least one of you is."

Gawain can see the relief in Arthur's eyes as they shift to look over to Galahad. Galahad's thinner, there are shadows under his eyes, his grip on Gawain's shirt is desperate, head resting on Gawain's chest, listening to his heart beating steadily - and it all comes together.

"He's not been sleeping nor eating, has he? He's not been himself"

Arthur's surprised by the question - more a statement than a question - his eyes snapping back to Gawain, startled, and Gawain can see the answer in their depths.

"It was that bad, huh?" Unconsciously, Gawain pulls Galahad a little closer to him, and Arthur's lips curl up slightly, the relief still bright and clear in his features.

"But it's better now."

It must have been bad, Gawain muses. It must have been very bad to have Arthur so worried - not that Arthur didn't worry about everything, he just didn't usually worry this much. And the relief is not usually this intense.

"Rest, Gawain, and recover; he needs you." Arthur nods his head towards Galahad, clasps Gawain lightly on the shoulder and turns to leave.

"Arthur, how long has Tristan been back?"

"He came back just as we set out to find you," Arthur answers. "He's gone out again, though. I sent him to see how far the Woads had gone."

A shiver runs up Gawain's spine as Arthur's words bring back the images of those days abruptly to the front of his mind, and he forces himself to concentrate on Galahad - the rise and fall of his chest, the light puffing of Galahad's breath on his neck, Galahad's warmth and heartbeat beneath his hand - to ground himself.

"Gawain?" Arthur. Concerned.

"I'm alright. Sorry." Gawain opens his eyes again to smile at Arthur, his heartbeat slowing.

He's back. He's home. He's safe.

"I'm alright."

Apparently satisfied, Arthur turns around and leaves Gawain to think.

So many questions. So many unanswered questions.

There were enough before he went but now there are even more. Like why Tristan had looked at him like that, why Tristan had been watching him so closely anyway? Why was Galahad acting like this? Why did Galahad think he'd not care anymore?

And what part did Tristan play in it all? What part does Tristan play in turning his world upside down?

And Tristan is still not there to answer him.