AN: I promised and I delivered. Here it is, 7 pages of GG angst. What more could one ask for?
-weeps at low reviews- Oh well. Those that come are wonderful, and bring me naught by joy. I can be content with that.
Camreyn ...you are my shero. Your reviews make my day. Thank you for the consistent, wonderful feedback.
It was, as Galahad would later come to realize, a blessing that the riverbed was so shallow.
Though steep – in truth, nearly vertical - the drop to the dry, cracked floor was barely five feet. Below, the fauna of the surrounding area had encroached into the long dead stream, thriving in the silt rich soil.
Above - on the trail where Galahad still stood, trembling slightly - there was a matted section of grass that told of something stumbling from the path and over the edge. Galahad followed its projectory and flinched when his eyes fell upon Gawain.
What a strange, fortunate turn of fate. It had been so long since the Gods had looked upon them with any kindness that this, rare blessing as it was, was hard to believe without looking 'round the corner for the pain that would follow. Had the stream carved its way any deeper, Gawain would have died on impact.
In his haste, Gawain had been sloppy. He'd found the trail, followed his quarry, and shut out all reasonable, intelligent thought. Typical of the man, but no less frustrating for it.
The game trail had been ripe with convenient pit falls and thick foliage. If another man had laid in wait along the path, ready for any that might pursue, it wouldn't have been hard to pick off a rampaging, maddened knight moving through the forest like a raging bull.
But Gawain had been lucky, or the archer inexperienced. Either way, his life had been spared only to be risked once more. The arrow was not true, at least in the fact that it did not strike the rider. It struck his mount.
Galahad swallowed as he looked at the scene below him, finally forcing himself to slide down the embankment with wary concern. The arrow had caught Gawain's horse in the side, puncturing a lung and signing its death warrant.
Terrified and in pain, the animal had stumbled, most likely rearing as the arrow tore into it. The archer must have been positioned perfectly; the ambush had come just in time to send stead and rider over the edge. Perhaps the attacker was not so green after all.
Galahad stumbled as he stepped onto the steam bed, his nerves making his actions blunt and clumsy. His nose twitched at the familiar, coppery smell that rolled through the air in waves. Blood was every where.
It was a temporary but surging relief that the rattling death breaths he'd heard not moments passed had been given by the animal, not its owner.
Gawain, however, was in a bad place. The dying animal had pinned him to the ground when it fell from the trail, trapping his left leg from mid-thigh down.
Fighting down thoughts of broken bones and amputation, Galahad nervously approached the still, groaning form.
"Gawain?" his voice left his body in a harsh, terrified whispered. The man's face was shiny with sweat and his brow was drawn in pain. Blood had stained his blonde hair and was gently seeping through the chaotic, matted locks.
Galahad knelt gently by the older man's head, trying to ignore the noises the horse made as it went into its final throes. Its once shining hair was now slick with its own blood and sweat. The poor beast's legs bent at unnatural angles and its black chest rose less and less with each passing breath. The air stank of blood.
Turning his mind from the piteous scene, Galahad bent to gently run his hands across Gawain's brow. He stirred at the touch, but did not wake.
"Gawain?" he called again, this time stronger, encouraged by the man's soft mutterings. Fear and cynicism jeered his momentary hope, reminding him of all the knights that had died in his time at the Round Table. Gawain was no different; he was as susceptible to death as any of the others. Galahad's closeness brought him no additional protection.
But if that is so Galahad thought, lifting Gawain's head into his lap, why does it feel impossible to loose him?
At a loss for action, he tugged at Gawain's locks, calling his name and stoking his face. Where in hell had the others gone to?
He damned the highwaymen for their part in this, damned Gawain for his stubborn stupidity, and most of all, he damned the Romans, whose fault it truly was.
And when he had cursed them every way he knew how, he damned himself. He was an idiot, a mad man to let himself become close to the man. A lonely life was one free of loss.
But he thought of the comfort Gawain had brought him over the years, the happiness and camaraderie and campfire laughter...and Galahad could not damn his affections. They had carried him too long to be forsaken.
"You haven't the right to leave" Gawain whispered angrily, not sure at the emotion's root, "You can't leave us, you hear me you old bastard? You can't leave me..."
He swallowed the knot that had risen painfully in his throat, ignoring its demand to be released in tears. He touched the man's brow gently.
"Damn you, Gawain, wake up"
None was more surprised at Gawain's sudden obedience than the man that gave the order. Though bloodied and hurt, the blonde knight stirred slightly and cracked a single, bleary eye open.
Galahad's pulse jumped at the glorious movement, hope rapidly pushing worry and confusion from his mind in a single, blissful breath. His hand shook as he brushed hair from the other's face, completely ignorant of the intimacy of the gesture.
Gawain was returning to consciousness by parts. Once he managed to get both eyes opened and focused, he took his time getting his bearings before speaking. Galahads hands did not leave his face as he did this, and it seemed that Gawain was too dazed to care.
"What the bloody hell happened?" he grunted eventually, wincing as he shifted, "And what's the hell's 'matter with my leg" He lifted his head to look around, and groaned when he saw the horse.
"Oh gods, what manner of ass am I?" He moaned, letting his head fall back into Galahad's lap, blinking in shock when he realized how the younger man positioned them, "That was the best damned horse I ever had"
Galahad grunted something that he hoped sounded comforting, and resumed trailing his fingers across the other's face.
"Are you hurt?" he asked finally, kicking himself as the question left his mouth
"Hurt?" Gawain asked, looking up at him with a smirk on his face, "No m'boy, I
feel fresh as a spring rose - of course I'm bloody hurt! I've got a god damned horse sitting on my leg, how the hell would you feel?" There was heat in the question, but not anger. He couldn't be badly injured if he made light of it.
Galahad laughed at himself and the irate man below him, "I meant your head, you arrogant jackass" he touched the spots of blood on his scalp, "Did you hurt this lump of bone?"
Gawain shifted and sat back on his elbows, letting Galahad free to assess the mess of his legs.
"I shouldn't think so" Gawain replied, touching his head gingerly, "Nah, I'm fine, it's the damned branches that gave me this" He indicated the cuts with sticky fingers, "Not the fall"
Galahad nodded, refusing to let hope swell any larger in his chest. There was no way the man could have escaped completely unharmed...
"And your legs...?" he asked cautiously, nearly afraid to hear the answerer.
Gawain shrugged and moved his free leg without wincing, "This one's fine" he muttered. After several seconds of twitching his pinned leg, he looked up, "Can't tell much of this one, all I feel is pressure"
Galahad nearly muttered, Know the feeling before he could stop himself.
Sighing, he looked to the trail above them, once again wondering where the others had gone to. He feared leaving the animal atop Gawain for any longer, the weight would eventually crush his ankle.
"Well" he muttered, turning back to see Gawain trying, unsuccessfully, to shove the horse from him with his one free leg. The older man grunted and kicked, but the dead weight on his leg did not shift
"I some how doubt that's going to work" Galahad observed flippantly, smirking at Gawain's righteous glare.
But despite his light tone, Galahad could not grasp Gawain's unhurt state. It was miraculous. In his few, but condensed, years of battles, he'd seen nothing to compare. The man had taken a fall that would have killed another in an instant. By the way he was bending and shoving, arching off the ground to gain traction, even his ribs escaped uninjured. Galahad swallowed, suddenly flushed. Most men couldn't bend that way healthy.
"Galahad!"
The knight jumped, tearing his eyes away from Gawain's midsection to meet the man's eyes. "Wh-what?"
Gawain frowned at him and fell panting back onto his elbows. "Are going to stand there or are you going to help me?"
"Ri-right" he muttered, moving to where the horse lay motionless on Gawain's leg, "I did not think you'd need it, seeing as you made so much progress writhing on the ground like a whore. Didn't want to interfere"
Gawain laughed, "Well, it's just that I've had such experience watching women writhe, I thought an imitation might help"
This was almost like old times, Galahad thought with a smile. The mocking insults, light jokes...it was very nearly the same as before. He did not, however, examine the sudden curiosity that bloomed in his chest at Gawain's boasts. How much truth was to them...what would it be like...
"Right then" he said suddenly, louder than he intended, "Let's see what we can do"
Later, after they realized what they'd accomplished was technically impossible for only two men to do, they'd wonder at just how they got the horse from Gawain's leg. Galahad remembered kneeling down and throwing his shoulder and all his weight against the animal's still back, his feet sliding through the loose dirt as he attempted to find sure footing. He'd heard Gawain grunting and shouting suggestions designed more to annoy than assist.
It was several sweaty minutes before Gawain let out a louder grunt, followed by a sharp gasp,
"Stop!" he panted to Galahad, "Stop, I've got it"
Relieved and dripping with sweat, Galahad ceased his efforts, and turned to see the state of Gawain's leg.
It could have, should have, been worse.
"Oh gods" Gawain muttered, wincing as he bent his leg, "this is just bloody wonderful"
Galahad sat next to him, batting Gawain's hands away from the injured leg and forcing him to lay it straight.
"Where does it hurt" He asked cautiously, running his hands gently along his shins, feeling for breaks.
"It's not terrible" Gawain said honestly, his eyes following the boy's fingers as they ghosted across his leg. "I, uh, I don't think it broke, but the damn stones did a number on my calf" he swallowed and bit his lip, ignoring to his best the boy's unknowing caress.
Galahad nodded, not seeing Gawain's discomfort. He noted the blood that specked the back of his pant leg and frowned. The riverbed pebbles had worked their way through the fabric and into the skin.
"Your ankle...?"
Gawain shrugged, "Won't know 'til I try to stand"
Galahad looked up at him, worry creasing his young, smooth face. "Do you want to try?"
Again, Gawain shrugged, much too at ease for the situation. The nonchalance was as telling of his fear as a sob would be for another. What are you thinking now? Galahad wondered, Do you fear you'll never return to battle? Be deprived a hero's death?
Shaking his head in disgust and frustration, Galahad rose. Gawain looked up at him with a smile. "A gentleman would help a damsel in distress from the ground with a proffered hand"
Galahad snorted, "You sir must be the most oddly....equipped damsel I've ever the fortune to meet"
Gawain chuckled and clasped the arm Galahad offered him. After several false starts and semi-encouraging words citing Gawain's increased age and apparent frailty, Galahad pulled the other man upright .
But when he put weight on his ankle, Gawain immediately sucked a breath in through gritted teeth. He staggered slightly and let Galahad slip beneath his arm to support him.
"Is it bad?" Galahad asked, looking up into the face that was suddenly only inches from his own
"It's..."Gawain swallowed, tried to shift so they weren't so close, and realized it was impossible, "It's fine"
The blonde knight was looking straight ahead, apparently interested in a tree stump several feet away.
"I can't believe you're nearly unharmed..." Galahad marveled, raising his free hand to touch Gawain's chest. He was looking for breaks in his ribs. He thought.
The touch seemed to be too much for Gawain, and he suddenly stood rigid beside Galahad, his eyes still locked forward.
"Galahad..." he gritted out, trying to make it a warning and not a plea. Frustrated by the younger man's closeness, he turned to confront Galahad's broad, worried face. How could the boy go on holding him like this? The touches they'd shared had never been so intimate. Even before his moonlit indiscretions, Galahad's friendly distance had made it easy for Gawain to ignore his affections...but with his touch now so intimate and unknowingly sensual...Gawain could not bare the taste. All or nothing, both would be easier to deal with than the vague flirtations that Galahad seemed to be attempting.
He'd damn the boy for the torture he put him through, but his eyes were too open, too confused at Gawain's sudden stiffness. It was not his fault he did not understand.
He sighed roughly, and looked once more into the brown eyes that observed him worriedly.
"I'm fine" he repeated, stepping forward to prove his point. He gave little more than a wince, and allowed himself to lean heavily on the boy. "Where the hell are the others?"
"Good bloody question" Galahad muttered, letting himself be distracted by the question. Anything was better than dwelling on the warm spasms in his chest gave at Gawain's touch.
As if in answer, soft talk drifted down from the trail above, muddled with the sound of horses.
"Oi! There they are!" a voice broke through the woodland silence. The rough grate could belong to only one man, and Galahad and Gawain were rewarded moments later when Bors' homely visage appeared above them on the trail.
"God damn you Tristan" the old warrior shouted, turning his head to glare at the knight who'd appeared soundlessly behind him. "We must've passed them four bloody times! What sort of scout are you?"
Tristan only shrugged unapologetically and slid from his saddle. It seemed to Galahad that amidst the hair and shadows on his face, a small grin came and went.
"You alright to climb up?" Galahad asked, glancing up at the blonde knight.
Gawain shrugged and forced a tight smile, "We'll see, won't we?"
AN: Review. Please.
Also, I'm having trouble uploading a chapter to fictionpress. It's not PW protected, open when I'm trying to load it, or too big. Anyone have suggestions? The helpline is never going to get back to me....
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