A/N: You have EffervescentAardvark to thank for this prompt update! One, she got the Lady Godiva reference. And two, she guessed where this was going…
That's right, the awkward-bro-snuggle-to-keep-warm, a favorite trope of mine. Don't worry (or, alternatively: sorry, if you were hoping for that) no slash forthcoming. I should also probably acknowledge some influence from Baschashe's "Where A Fire Won't Do," where the trope does lead to slash, so if that's your thing, I recommend you check it out!
…
Gwaine didn't get worse after that.
But he didn't get better, either.
Merlin had checked the bandages, finding them no better. The two smaller wounds had perhaps begun the healing process before Gwaine's violent retching had broken them open again. And the wounds were a little red and warm to the touch, so Merlin cleaned them again with the last of the whiskey, hoping that would stave off infection, but not counting on it.
Gwaine just couldn't warm up, though they swaddled him in blankets and cloaks and set him up near the fire and gave him warm broth to drink—he actually didn't even want food because of the pain in his stomach, which worried him even more than it worried the others.
And Gwaine could barely keep his eyes open. That was irritating. What if he missed something? What if he died in his sleep? That was no way to go.
During that night, Merlin, Arthur, and the knights learned something about Gwaine: the reason that he seemed to have an endless supply of inane chatter wasn't so much that he liked to hear himself talk, but rather more because he simply hated silence. As long as someone was talking, or singing, or bickering or mumbling, he could actually be quiet—and that meant he let himself rest for even long stretches at a time. As soon as a lull occurred, though, he'd jump right back in to fill the void. Even when near-sleep or asleep, if the sound of familiar voices died out, Gwaine would shift or start awake, asking where everyone had gone and had they heard the one about the three nuns?
Gwaine disliked silence on principle. With the life he'd led, before Camelot, he was alone a lot of the time, which was why, when he was in a town, he'd taken to living out of taverns, flocking to the most crowded of places, and hooking up for three-or-more-somes as often as possible. And apparently, old habits die hard.
Plus, Gwaine quite liked people. He liked their sounds, their stories, their differences, their similarities. It wasn't the companionship that he craved, really, necessarily: it was the environment. It felt—well, really, Gwaine never let his guard down—ever—so he guessed it felt…safer? When you were on your own, in the wild, you didn't know what was coming or from where: at least with people, even with enemies, you knew what was coming and the only variable was when. So it was safer. Not safe. But safer.
And, okay, maybe he let his guard down, just a bit, with Merlin, the King, and the Knights, maybe just enough that he felt, maybe, you know, sort of, actually a little bit safe.
Merlin looked up sharply as Gwaine twitched.
"You let me fall asleep in the middle of the one about the Duke of Earl," Gwaine accused, clearing his throat and blinking sluggishly. His voice was hoarse. Arthur was sleeping, as were Leon and Lancelot. Percival was on watch, on the other side of the fire near the horses. Merlin was watching him.
"Of course I did. Gwaine, please, you've got to rest," Merlin insisted, putting a hand on Gwaine's knee.
"Don't want to," Gwaine complained, shifting.
Merlin sighed, rubbed his eyes. "Why?"
"Cold." Gwaine didn't care that he sounded like a petulant child. "And bored."
"You're still cold?" Merlin sounded urgent. Oops.
"Mmmmaybe?" Gwaine said. Merlin glared at him in silence until, "It's not so much cold as it is a dull ache now," he said, trying to be helpful.
Merlin snaked a hand inside the cocoon of blankets. His hand was warm against Gwaine's chest. "You really are icy. Blast it, Gwaine, that's it," he sighed. Then, turning, he whisper-shouted across the fire. "Sir Percival!"
Percival stepped over to them. "What is it, Merlin?" His eyes darted to Gwaine worriedly.
"Merlin, you better not be thinking what I—"
"Gwaine's still cold. I know it's awkward, Percival, but, well, you're bigger than me, and—"
"Whoa, wait, what?" Gwaine attempted to shake off sleep and pain and weakness and cold and the overall feelings of ick, lifting his head. "You're not going to sleep with me!"
Percival and Merlin both blushed bright red.
"I mean, er, next to me!" Gwaine corrected, also blushing. "You're not doing either one!"
But now Percival was frowning. "Oh, hush. You sound like a prude."
"I'm not a prude!" Gwaine exclaimed. "I just—I don't go in for—well, okay, there was this one time, and I was very drunk, and…really, I'm fine, I just…Percival, stop, I…oh…"
Gwaine practically melted as Percival crawled under the mountain of blankets with him, putting Gwaine between the fire and himself. He began warming immediately, and his body relaxed from its state of tension against the cold. Percival was a bloody furnace!
Merlin nearly laughed out loud. "Doesn't that feel better?" he said smugly.
It did. Gwaine couldn't even dredge up the energy to care that one of his best mates was spooning him like he was a bloody woman. "You're not as soft as Lady Godgifu," he said, a weak attempt to find something to complain about.
Percival chuckled.
Gwaine had gone quite limp. He may even have been drooling. He didn't care. It was just nice to be warm again. "You tell anyone about this and I'll skin you," Gwaine groaned, knowing he didn't have the strength to make good on his threat. His eyelids began to droop, but he struggled to keep them open.
"Keep talking, Merlin," Percival encouraged, half-joking. "We've got to talk him to sleep."
Merlin grinned. "Okay, one bedtime story, and then you have to sleep."
Gwaine nodded. "Make sure Perce keeps his grabby hands to himself!" he mumbled.
"Hey, you're the one who kicks in your sleep! I'm the one in danger here," Percival retorted.
"I'll keep an eye on him," Merlin said. "You sleep, too, Percival. I'll watch."
"All night?" Gwaine wondered sleepily, eyes still fighting to remain open, but losing.
Merlin smiled sadly. "Most of it, anyway. I'll wake Lancelot if I can't stay awake."
Gwaine seemed satisfied with this, and settled, closing his eyes. Then, "Merlin?"
"Yeah, Gwaine?"
"Story?"
Merlin laughed, supremely glad that everyone had their eyes closed because a tiny tear exploded out of one eye, because Gwaine just sounded so—small? Innocent? Insecure? Precious? A host of other words that could never be applied to Gwaine under normal circumstances and thereby only highlighted how bad the situation truly was? Merlin furiously wiped away the errant manifestation of emotion before anyone noticed. "Um. Yeah. Okay. Have I ever told you about how I met Arthur?..."
"Yeah," Gwaine snorted. "But that's a good one. Tell me again."
Merlin drew the (in)famous story out as long as he could, poking at the fire and adding a few more logs to it. For the first half Gwaine chuckled or snorted at all the appropriate bits, while Percival was fast asleep almost immediately. At the last half, Gwaine, too, seemed to have drifted off, but Merlin kept up this story to no one, even beginning, once it was finished, to list off names of herbs and their remedies from Gaius' Pharmacopoeia and then to recite all the animals and their behaviors from Geoffrey's Bestiary until he was quite hoarse, just to keep Gwaine asleep. Merlin didn't have much experience with babies, but he assumed this was like putting a child to sleep—if the infant became suspicious that you had stopped singing its due lullaby before it was fully properly asleep, it would cry and you had to start all over again. And Merlin wasn't going to start all over again with a certain big baby in a red cape.
Fortunately, when Merlin's voice finally gave and the cave fell silent, Gwaine remained asleep.
Unfortunately, Gwaine remained asleep, which was somewhat worrying in and of itself. He needed the rest more than anything, but Merlin couldn't help feeling—somewhat selfishly—that Gwaine had given up. He hadn't, of course, that was silly—Gwaine would never give up, he would die before he gave up—but his breathing was slow and shallow, and his face was so pale and, in sleep, without the mask, so drawn in pain, that Merlin couldn't help but go over to check that he was still breathing every few minutes.
In the quiet while everyone was sleeping, Merlin considered using magic to heal his friend.
He considered it for all of three seconds before he crept back over to where Gwaine and Percival were sleeping soundly and muttered a few words. He could hardly concentrate—big surprise—but Merlin was never very good at these healing spells, which was a frustration, and he had just tried raising his voice above a whisper, "Gestepe hole! Þurhhæle! Wearþ hál geworden—" when Arthur stirred:
"Shut up, Merlin. Put Lancelot on watch and go to sleep."
"Sorry, sire," Merlin said and, with one last helpless look at the sleeping Gwaine, went to wake Lancelot for the last watch.
…
A/N: Apologies for my atrocious Anglo-Saxon grammar. I took some of Merlin's spell from the Merlin wiki, and some I made up…I think it says something like "Begin to be well! You are healed! He was restored to health!" or something redonkulous like that. Perhaps we can chalk it up to Merlin being bad at healing spells, LOL. My OE is terrible, srsly, don't judge me. (Why do you think I was so exhausted after the Beowulf paper?) ;) Anyway, thanks for reading! I'm…sort of at a loss as to where to go from here, so any reviews with ideas, suggestions, request are good! All I know is it'll get worse before it gets better…