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.

It's dark. And he's alone. He's bound by the hands again - and the legs - and there's this awful screaming somewhere in the distance. It's getting louder and louder and closer and closer. It's an agony-filled, spine-chilling scream that's torn from someone's throat in the midst of the most horrendous torture - and it's torture just listening to it. And then Gawain recognises the voice.

Galahad.

There's a Woad hovering over him now, sending Galahad's broken body into his arms; those lifeless eyes are staring up at him, those lips, cold and unmoving, and there's blood, so much blood.

And Gawain screams.

He feels himself being roughly shaken and a panicked voice is calling out his name. But he doesn't want to open his eyes, doesn't want to look and see Galahad's dead body, doesn't want to believe.

But it's that same voice - the same as the screaming. But this isn't tortured. This is alive. And it's calling his name desperately.

Gawain snaps his eyes open, locking them with Galahad's huge frightened ones. They're dancing with emotion, firelight glittering off the unshed tears - and so, so alive.

And Gawain buries his head in the younger knight's neck, revelling in the life that pulses through his veins.

It's been a month and he still cannot rid himself of those nightmares.

He's not told a soul the details of what happened - not even Galahad - and only just gave a brief report to Arthur of how he had got there just as the Woads had attacked. He has not told anyone of what kinds of horrors they had inflicted on him. They know of the physical wounds because they're there in plain sight, but the mental and emotional, they can only guess at.

And he doesn't want anyone to know - not yet.

By now, Galahad knows not to ask.

He just lets Gawain hold him for as long as Gawain needs. And for that, Gawain's truly grateful.

But there are thoughts that linger in his mind.

"What aren't you telling me, Galahad? What are the reasons you are so afraid that I will be angry, that I will not love you when thoughts of you are all that has kept me alive?"

Gawain does not ask - he is too afraid of his own secrets - but he knows that there's a reason that there's a slight desperation in Galahad's every action near him, as if he's afraid that his time with Gawain will not last.

And Gawain suspects that the reason is somewhat Tristan-based.

And Gawain hadn't been here to stop Tristan from hurting Galahad - again.

Gawain sighs, pulling Galahad even closer, resting his head on Galahad's curls taking comfort in the warmth in his arms and, when Galahad tips his head up to look up at him, he can't resist kissing those slightly parted lips.

Galahad's taste is intoxicating. It's addictive to the extreme and Gawain can't seem to get enough of him. He rolls Galahad onto his back and slips his leg between Galahad's, which part to accommodate him. He lets his lips drift downwards, nipping at Galahad's neck, making him arch and moan.

It's been over a month. Over a month since they'd done this. Over a month since he's touched Galahad like this.

"Gawain," Galahad breathes. "Gawain, you're hurt."

"I'm better now." It been over a month because Galahad seems to still think he's made of glass, that he'll break. "Galahad, don't..."

And Galahad pushes him lightly and flips their positions.

"Let me."

And Gawain's never been able to deny him anything.

He's enjoying the feel of Galahad's lips on him.

Then, unbidden, an image instils itself into his mind.

Galahad. On his knees. And Tristan, face flushed and wild, losing himself in Galahad.

Gawain's eyes fly open as he comes.

Galahad milks him clean and Gawain watches him, panting, eyes wide with shock.

Was Galahad not enough? Where were these thoughts coming from? Ever since that day - the day he had questioned Galahad about his scars - Tristan had never left his thoughts. Always there, always lurking - just like Tristan.

His love for Galahad hasn't lessened - of that at least, he's sure.

But there was also no doubt that he wanted Tristan. Wanted Tristan together - with Galahad. Even though Tristan had hurt him.

Galahad - Gawain thinks as he watches Galahad work himself to completion, biting his bottom lip, letting out only soft mewling sounds that touch Gawain to the core - Galahad is everything.

But Tristan, however much he wants to deny it, is starting to become something more - more than Gawain ever thought possible.

Galahad curls up beside Gawain, letting his head drop to his favourite place at the crook between Gawain's right shoulder and his neck, closing his eyes.

He knows that, perhaps, he's being a little too cautious, that Gawain won't break, not after a month of healing, but he wants to be sure. He wants to be the one looking after Gawain, caring for Gawain and protecting Gawain for once. He's had enough of letting Gawain down.

He's had enough of being weak.

Gawain doesn't seem to think any less of him, maybe Gawain didn't know, but whatever the case, he wants to show Gawain that he's trying - trying to be everything Gawain deserves - so that when he does find out, he won't send him away.

He doesn't care if Gawain didn't love him; he just wanted to stay by his side.

He wants to help Gawain too, help him to get over what had happened to him, but he can't because he knows Gawain's not ready to tell him.

And his subconscious seems to remind him of his faults, mocking him - his subconscious that sounds suspiciously like Tristan.

It shouldn't have been like this. If you'd been stronger, if you'd gone with him rather than broken, if only you tried - you can't protect him. You're useless - unworthy of his love. Do you ever think of him, or is it always you, you, you?

Do you love him?

The last statement is clearer that the others. Not his imagination - but his memory.

He's always needed Tristan to remind him of his duties to Gawain. And he hates that, hates that more than anything - hates him. He hates Tristan.

Because Tristan's always known better than he has - always known what Gawain needs.

And he's always questioned Galahad's intentions.

"I do love him, dam' it. I do. I care. I really do. I'm just useless. I'm unworthy. But I love him. I know I don't deserve him - don't deserve his love - but I love him and I..."

"Galahad?"

Gawain. He had been speaking out loud. He buries his head further into Gawain's neck, tears threatening to fall again. He doesn't want them to. He's done too much crying lately.

"Galahad?" Gawain pulls away, tipping his chin, forcing his tear-filled eyes to meet Gawain's caring, worried ones. "What's going on?"

He doesn't want to lose Gawain. He doesn't want to lose Gawain to Tristan - but Tristan's always known. And Galahad's not worthy.

"I...Nothing," he answers, trying to turn his face away, to hide the tears, but Gawain won't let him.

"Don't say that, Galahad." A finger gently wipes the tears away. "And there is no shame in tears. Not in front of me." Gawain kisses his eyes, which drift shut in an attempt to hide them again from Gawain's view. "Tell me what you mean?"

He doesn't want to lie. He really doesn't want to lie to Gawain. He can't. So he keeps his eyes closed, not wanting to see hate or loathing replacing the love, not wanted to see the shocked, pained expression - not wanting to see the disappointment.

"I'm sorry. I'm not worthy Gawain. Not worthy of your love. You shouldn't love me. You shouldn't care. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I didn't go with you. I didn't...." Galahad's eyes snap open when Gawain says nothing. "Please, Gawain. Please don't send my away. Let me stay. You don't have to love me, just don't send me away."

"Oh Galahad," Gawain whispers, pulling the almost hysterical youth to him. "Don't be silly." He drops a kiss to Galahad's head, and cradles him close; his whole body is shaking, wracked with sobs he can no longer suppress. "Don't say that. Never say that. Let me decide who is worthy of my love, alright? Let me decide. And let me love."

And all Galahad can do is cling on to keep from drowning in his own misery.

It's been a few days - a few days of Gawain trying to convince Galahad that he's not angry, that he still loves him, that he won't stop - and Galahad's still unsure of himself. Gawain's really starting to wonder how he'll ever convince him otherwise.

"If not you, Galahad, who else? Who else is so worthy of my love?"

He'd asked once. And Galahad had frozen.

Gawain sighs. Who is it then that Galahad believed was more worthy than he is?

Somehow, Gawain thinks he knows.

Somehow, Gawain thinks it's Tristan. Tristan who's put these ideas - or kept them there, let them fester - in Galahad's head. But he can't figure out why - why Tristan's put them there and why Galahad's so worried.

Just as he can't figure out the scars on Galahad's back. Or his own mixed up feelings.

And that infuriating man has been gone for a month. And he's still not back. He's not back to answer Gawain's questions.

And he lingers in Gawain's mind, never giving him any form of reprieve.

There's someone walking out of the stable just as Gawain and Galahad round the corner, intent on feeding and grooming their horses.

A pair of sharp eyes catches his own, almost physically halting him. Galahad, too, freezes, seemingly pinned by the intent stare - and the figure standing at the stable door.

Tristan.

A/N: This chapter has been slightly edited to comply with rules. Please see my writing livejournal (link on userinfo page) for full version.