No. 6 Touch and go / bruises / touch starved / hunger

Whumpees: Percival and Gwaine – and oops, slipped some minor Merlin in here too (post s5e2)

Coming home from the mines of Ismere, Percival hated the cold. Well, he always hated the cold – he could never find a shirt that was big, warm, and comfortable enough, which is why he always tore the sleeves off of his shirts. But it was a different sort of cold from the mines, a bone-deep sort of cold that made his blood move slower. He shivered on top of his mount, a big fuzzy horse with a lumbering stride.

The idea of coming home to Camelot, to his nice bed that was custom-built to fit his height, to the routine of training and patrolling the land should have been a comforting one. But the past few weeks in Morgana's clutches, dealing with the brunt of the Saxons' anger at them not finding something in the mines (and he wasn't really sure if this whole "key" thing existed…) Percival felt lost. A little more hopeless. Empty. Physically, Percival knew he was a mess. His muscles ached, and the little food they were given after Morgana was defeated in the caves just seemed to come right back up again. Merlin gave him a quick once-over when the knights were assembled outside before starting the journey home, but even Merlin looked pretty worse for the wear. His blue eyes were bloodshot, there seemed to be a new dent in his head, and he was a little wobbly on his feet. Of course, with really no food or water recently, Percival's vision was decidedly a little fuzzy. "It'll be a fun walk home," he thought.

Contrary to what was going on in Percival's head, Merlin was very much keyed into the overall health and wellbeing of the men. They found some shirts and capes in the castle once the Saxons had been defeated, but there wasn't a lot of time to do a top-to-bottom search for clothes. He knew that that's why Morgana had them all working shirtless in the caves – they wouldn't last for more than an hour in the brittle cold before freezing to death.

Merlin looked over the group, cataloguing injuries as he went. Percival seemed slightly concussed, dehydrated, and exhausted – it shouldn't be too bad, he figured. Gaius would help him take care of the group when they got home, anyway. Arthur's ear still looked a little purple from sleeping in the snow, but he didn't have anything to treat it with now. Other than the occasional limp or grunt, the rest of the men looked to be fairly steady and ready to move south toward Camelot. Gwaine looked the worst off, though, and Merlin knew he had at least three broken ribs. Out of everyone, Gwaine would have the hardest time in transit – whether that was riding, as most of the worse-off knights were doing; walking, which was what the majority of the group was doing, or via the small cart they found in the courtyard of the castle. Merlin had insisted on bringing it, "you never know what kind of game we can catch and bring home," he told Arthur, trying to appeal to his hunter's heart and growing kingly appetite. Arthur had acquiesced, but only just. He knew it was going to be a long journey home, at least four days.

As the group trudged on in the snow, Merlin kept his eye on Gwaine. He was stumbling, barely putting one foot in front of the other, but stubbornly moving forward. Merlin walked up to him, grabbing his arm to put around his shoulder and help him along, while Gwaine yelped and punched Merlin straight in the ear without realizing it. The whole party stopped, and Merlin was down. "Great, Gwaine, you've just knocked out our physician," Arthur broke the silence. "Get him on the cart".

As a few faithful knights loaded Merlin on the cart, Arthur dismounted and walked over to Gwaine. His eyes weren't focused on anything, just jumping around from thing to thing. "Gwaine," Arthur said in his most soothing voice. "Gwaine – look at me." He repeated this until green eyes landed in his direction. Gods, Gwaine looked like a tumultuous mess. "Gwaine, I need you to ride in the cart with Merlin."

"No, why? I'm fine Arthur, just a few bumps, I didn't mean to hit him, it just came out, it's like my arm isn't mine, y'know…" the usually verbose knight had a subdued kind of whine to the words, and it broke Arthur's heart. He slowly put his hands on Gwaine's shoulders, feeling them tremble under his touch, and kept using the mannerisms he would with a new stallion. ("soft, gentle-like, and reassurin', that's the spirit" Tom, the old stable-hand would always say to him.)

"It's OK, Gwaine, it's OK, you're OK, and you're going to be OK, and Merlin'll be OK," Arthur started his litany of reassurances. "I just need you to ride in the cart with him so that you can keep him company."

Gwaine squinted. "Comp'ny?"

Arthur was back to his kingly self. "Yes, well, you know how he can get," he half-complained. "Always chattering, he needs someone to talk to. Someone to complain to. A friend."

Gwaine acquiesced. "For Merlin, then" and climbed into the cart.

With that ordeal now behind them, the group continued their trudging pace through the snow, focused on one foot in front of another.

As the snow gave way to green meadows, Merlin started to wake up. "Arthur?" He squinted through the harsh sunlight and saw Gwaine passed out against the side of the cart. After a quick pulse check, Merlin closed his eyes and went back to sleep. He was just so tired.

Arthur decided to make camp as the light started to wane. The knights who had been walking brought Gwaine and Merlin closest to the fire, while those riding horses slowly dismounted, getting reacquainted with feeling their toes. It wasn't as bone-chillingly cold in these plains, and Arthur could see the outline of the Darkling Woods in the distance. Perhaps just two more days and they'd be back in Camelot. He missed his wife.

Percival was the last one to dismount, and Sir Owain had gone over to make sure he could get down OK. He knew Percival had beared the brunt of Morgana's evil over the past two weeks, hauling more stone and taking more beatings from the Saxons as the rest of them. Now, though, he was hunched in the saddle, eyes open but not seeing much. Owain put his hand on Percival's thigh to ask if he was alright, and his world went dark as Percival attacked him.

At the sign of Percival launching himself off of his horse and onto Owain, the rest of the camp hurried to separate the two. Just as with Gwaine, as soon as Percival hit the ground, he seemed to come to his senses. "What? Sorry! Ah, what happened? Sorry, I'm so sorry, oh no…" he muttered over again as the knights put Owain next to Gwaine and Merlin. Arthur took a deep breath, finding himself doing the soothing paternal voice he hated so much.

"Percival? Percival, it's OK, Percival, look at me." Tortured blue eyes found their way to Arthur. At least they look fairly lucid, he thought.

"Percival, it's OK. You went through a tough time, tougher than we can understand." His soothing voice seemed to calm down Percy's loud breaths. "Listen, it's OK to lash out, it's how you survived." His breaths seemed to deepen and slow even more. "I know that that's gone now, you can trust us, we're your brothers." The camp had been trying not to let on that they were listening to every word, but at that, they all began to nod vigorously. Arthur continued. "It might take you a few more days to get used to it, but" – he put his hands on Percy's shoulders and rubbed them softly. "- But we're here for you."

The look Percival gave Arthur could melt stone – and Arthur knew that his words hit home. Gwaine and Percival wouldn't be right as rain immediately, he knew – but with time, he could bring his knights together.

The bromance moment between Arthur and Percival was cut short by a low groan coming from everyone's favorite raven-haired servant. "Ow."

Arthur got up and walked over to the camp fire. He leaned over his best friend and said with a smirk, "Wow, the things you do for a night off." The camp laughed, breaking some of the tension that had been running rampant for the past few weeks, and Arthur knew all would be well.

-Fin-