A/N: I have been writing on borrowed time. I have been through many trials and tribulations and lost hours of sleep to bring this update to you. We can only pray my next update will be half as timely. Which is really just an overdramatic way of saying sorry for the time gap in updating, and I hope I can get the next one to you soon!

Also: Oh, snap! So I guess I'm so used to writing in my own AU for the "Friday Knights" series ((brief plug: check it out if you want more Gwaine, Merlin, or Leon action)) that I didn't even notice that this is technically an AU as well! So: basically imagine Lancelot doesn't die, and you have this AU. I basically forgot Queen Guinevere and Alive Sir Lancelot do not exist simultaneously in this canon—which is a shame. So, oops, my bad! Carry on.

Additionally: Whatever backstory for Gwaine that isn't supplied in the show (I stick to canon there), I pull again from the "Friday Knights" (much of which is pulled from the medieval source material). I do of course take some liberties, though nothing that conflicts with (current) canon.

Acknowledgements: To all reviewers, named and anonymous. Special shout-out to EffervescentAardvark, for her continually helpful reviews, prompts, and suggestions. This chapter (indeed, this fic) would not be coming to you without her.

…

Problem 297: Gwaine never could do anything the easy way. He always joked about "working smarter, not harder" but Percival suspected this was only Gwaine's way of skimping on chores or training in order to get to the tavern, and he really didn't commit to this philosophy in any consistent way.

Percival walked alongside the cart, holding onto the side for guidance, because he could hardly see for tears that threatened every other minute to blur his vision. He was tired, but he didn't want to ride. He needed something to focus on, like putting one foot in front of the other. Plus, his horse was tired. They all were.

And he wanted to be near Gwaine.

When they spotted the castle in the distance, Percival breathed a sigh of relief that even then he knew was a joke—as if reaching the castle would really change anything about the situation. Against his better judgment, he glanced at Gwaine.

His eyes were open.

"H-hey, Gwaine," Percival managed after a few tries. Merlin, Lancelot, and Gaius looked at him, sharply, confused. Gwaine shouldn't be awake.

Then again, this was Gwaine.

Rulebreaking was a part of his being.

Gwaine didn't react to the sound of his voice, or to Percival touching his arm. "Gwaine, you should really go back to sleep," he encouraged.

Nothing.

Well, that wasn't true. Gwaine did give a soft, keening moan, almost impossible to hear.

It made Percival sick to his stomach. Merlin stepped up, now, on the other side of the cart. He touched Gwaine's pulse, felt his brow, and eased the blankets down a bit to cool him. No reaction, as if either Gwaine couldn't sense or else couldn't move. He was just staring off into space, eyes fixed but unseeing at a point somewhere past Percival's shoulder. He barely blinked. It was not quite unnatural, but it wasn't comfortable.

How many times in the past two days had Percival thought that nothing could possibly get any worse? It was so unfair.

"Is he all right, Merlin?"

Merlin took a moment before nodding. "I think so. We drugged him, so he should be really out of it." There was a long pause. Merlin tried to get a reaction by laying a hand on Gwaine's brow and pushing a damp lock of hair back. "Guess he just wants to make sure he's not missing anything, as usual," he tried, with a forced smile.

Percival also tried to smile. "Maybe you should tell him another one of your stories?"

Merlin shook his head. "Why don't you tell him one of yours?"

"Me?" Percival glanced around to be sure. "I don't have any stories!"

Then Gwaine stirred: it was hardly anything, a deep intake of breath, which shuddered his chest, and a heavy blink. His eyes were looking weary: all of him looked weary, and very weak. Perhaps the sound of voices was still something that comforted Gwaine, no matter how asleep, awake, sick or drugged he was.

"Well—" Percival stammered. He immediately began to feel self-conscious. All his funny stories involved Gwaine, were usually instigated by Gwaine. And anyway, Percival didn't like telling stories. He didn't like talking. Not when he usually had Gwaine to do all the talking for him! He was suddenly struck by a panicked image of himself ordering drinks or speaking to the court with his own words, Gwaine painfully missing, not there to do the talking for Percival so all he had to do was stand there and nod.

It was a strange experience that now Gwaine needed him to talk.

"I don't know any stories. But there was this one time in my village where the cows got out…"

…

Once within the gates of Camelot, Arthur gave orders: for Gaius and Merlin to be given anything they could possibly require, for the knights to get cleaned up and rested, and for the horses to be taken care of. He had something very important to deal with first, before anything else. He gave his wife a hurried kiss as she greeted him at the steps of the palace.

"I need you to help Gaius," Arthur whispered, touching her hair. "Merlin's exhausted."

"You look exhausted," she said, frowning slightly.

"I am. And I'll need you to look after me, later," he said, trying to grin, though his heart wasn't in it. "I need to see the Court Genealogist."

"What?" Gwen snorted, thinking he was joking. Then, "Now?"

"Something has come up," he said, though Arthur, too, wondered why this couldn't wait. "I'll be down to see how Gwaine's doing when I'm finished."

Gwen's brow was still knotted, but she nodded and kissed his cheek.

Arthur was still wearing his muddy, bloody armor when he threw open the library doors.

"Sire! I only just heard—is Sir Gwaine…?"

"His condition is critical, but everything that can be done is being done for him now. I assume Gaius' medical library is sufficiently extensive, but I hope you will aid him in any archival capacity should he require it."

"You have only to ask, Sire," Geoffrey of Monmouth replied, sensing that this was not why the king had come to see him.

"I thank you. Now. On an unrelated, but no less urgent, matter, I need to know to from what house this crest comes."

Arthur dropped a pendant on a chain, with a gold ring strung along it, onto Geoffrey's desk.

Geoffrey stared at it a moment.

"Might I inquire as to its owner?"

"I need you to tell me what you can about it, first."

Geoffrey nodded, took up the pendant.

"I will wait, if I may," Arthur said, remaining unmoving.

"Of course, sire. I shall just check one or two texts to ensure my guess is correct."

Arthur nodded. The older man had scrutinized the symbol for a mere three seconds and already recognized the emblem. Which was what Arthur had expected, and why he was here:

Arthur thought he had recognized it, too.

"Ah, yes," Geoffrey said, and Arthur followed him over to another desk where a large codex lay open before him. "The house of Lucas. The two-headed eagle charged upon a Chevron is unmistakable, though the actual arms would be tinctured Or on Gules. The crescent of the pendant indicates a second son, of which I am not aware…." Geoffrey flicked through a few pages. "Lucas was, as you know, Sire, your grandfather Brutus' wayward brother. Your father wisely cut ties with his cousin Lot—not much better than his father—and, yes, here, Lucas had a second son, Loth, who, it seems, faded into obscurity, or else died young…" He paused, cast about for another book. "Unless…"

Arthur was beginning to feel very warm as an irrational wave of panic swept over him. "Unless what?"

"Ah." Locating the book, Geoffrey opened it. "Yes, there is record of a Sir Loth serving under Caerleon—" he pointed in the book to a small shield scribbled in the margins: there was no mistaking the two-headed eagle, golden, though here upon a burgundy shield, not red. "It is mentioned that he fell at the Battle of Guinnion Fort, oh, twenty-something years ago now."

Arthur nodded, realizing he was grinding his teeth, and stopped: "And did he have any offspring?"

"Well…" Geoffrey flicked through a few more pages. "I could probably find that out for you, Sire, but it will take some time pouring through records. He was married: to a Princess of Orkney, apparently, though she is not named here."

Arthur nodded. "Might there be any significance with the ring?"

Geoffrey examined the piece expertly but quickly, and shrugged. "Not that I can see. Probably a wedding band. There are no initials on the inside." He looked at Arthur and opened his mouth, but the young king looked troubled, so the Court Genealogist did not want to push him. "Shall I continue to peruse for records of any of Loth's children, Sire?"

"Yes. Send for me as soon as you find anything. Thank you," Arthur barely managed to remember to say before he took the chain up again in a fist and stalked out of the library.

You had better make it through this alive, Gwaine, Arthur vowed, in a rage of frustration with his massively pig-headed, mixed-up, hypocritical, reckless and, now, apparently, not only noble but very possibly his own blood-relation, because I might kill you myself.

…

It was official.

This was bad.

Merlin and Gaius had gotten the injured knight settled in the physician's quarters on the sickbed, pale and listless and, though the sleeping draught had worn off by now, absolutely still. He vacillated between being awake and asleep, or else seemed to, oppressed by fever, his eyelids working sluggishly, his fingers twitching, but no voice or touch could rouse him. All they got out of the usually active and noisy knight was the occasional tremble or heartbreaking whimper.

With some difficulty, Merlin had only barely managed to shoo the knights outside, who opted to stand in the hallway whispering quietly and looking crestfallen. No one seemed to notice or care that they were still in their hunting clothes.

"This is stupid," Elyan finally said, interrupting the awkward discussion about the weather (it was still raining heavily).

The knights looked at him.

"He can't do this! A hunting accident? Really? He was—" there were tears in Elyan's eyes, "you didn't see what Morgana did to him, when we were in the dungeons, he…. He was annoying as hell but he just didn't give up. He was unstoppable! And now he's—"

"He is not giving up," Leon said, as if saying so forcefully would make it true.

"I don't think it matters if he gives up or not," Lancelot whispered sadly, then straightened to attention when the Queen glided down the hall.

"Lancelot! Leon, what's going on? How's Gwaine?" she said, looking around at the knights. No one could meet her eye.

"I…we do not know, your majesty," Leon managed after a moment. "Gaius and Merlin are doing everything they can."

She attempted a smile. "Then I would say he is in good hands, yes?"

"The best."

"In which case I think you should all get some rest yourselves," she said, pointedly. Gwen didn't often use her commanding, queenly voice, but when she did, it tugged at a small, invisible string on each of their spines, stronger than any king ordering them into battle.

"But, my lady—" Lancelot tried, and "But, Gwen—" her brother protested, but she held up her hand.

"You have all performed admirably, getting him here. But I fear there is little more you can do at this point other than take care of yourselves. Camelot needs you to be strong now more than ever. I have had servants draw you each a bath, and warm food and clothes are waiting for you in your rooms."

It sounded like an invitation, but it wasn't. The knights bowed and left quickly.

Except one.

"Percival," Gwen warned.

"Please, milady," Percival said, his voice cracking as he wrung his hands nervously and looked down at his feet. It was pitiful seeing someone so big and strong look so lost and scared. "Please, I can't leave. Can't I stay with him? Just a bit longer? Only I couldn't eat a bite now without being sick, and I know Gwaine would do the same for me, and I just remembered another story to tell him because he likes funny stories, and, and, I just can't leave him, please don't make me—"

This may in fact have been the most Gwen had ever heard Percival say at any one time.

She laid a hand on his arm, and he quieted immediately, blushing hot. "Sir Percival," she said, trying once more to sound stern.

"Please," he begged, his voice meek.

She pressed her lips together, searching his face, though he tried his best to hide it. "All right," she said, and Percival released a huge sigh of breath she hadn't realized he had been holding. "I think you should stay—but not for too long."

She opened the door, and Percival shot to Gwaine's bedside like an arrow. Gaius and Merlin frowned at her ever-so-slightly, and she shrugged. What were they going to do, kick her out?

"What can I do to help?" she asked.

...

A/N: Also, apologies for the FanFiction site, which seemed to struggle to get this chapter actually uploaded, even though it still sent alerts out...awesome.