A/N: YAY SHE'S ALIVE! Having survived Beowulf and end of terms and grading, I'm back! I must confess I did have something written for you days ago, but had to pick my brains up off the floor and stuff them back in, after which I realized (thanks to the wonderful help of EffervescentAardvark, as usual) that the previous chapter could be so much more, and thusly decided to turn two paragraphs into 7 pages for your reading pleasure. Which means this sucker's gonna be even longer (yay!...?). And all that is just to say THANK YOU for your patience, and I hope this chapter pleases!

Shoutout to ArodieltheElfofRohan, who made me come clean with what I'm up to with this story. I'll just repost what I told her for you all here: I was actually really hesitant about making Gwaine into as much of an emotional cripple as I've apparently made him! BUT I feel like the character, for all his carefree appearance, really has some depth to him and is dealing with some deep wounds that never healed (little hints the show gives us, like how he drinks all the time, invents what his dad was like, does not talk about his mom, doesn't talk about his necklace, Merlin is his first/only friend, gets in bar fights everywhere he goes, has zero problem killing people for sport with his bare hands when Morgana has him fighting, etc…). He just covers these up with a really well-constructed "game-face"...and that was really what I wanted to explore with this fic.

…

Gwaine did a lot of sleeping the next few days. Every time he awoke, someone was sitting at his bedside, and they were usually suspiciously willing to be talkative. Like Elyan—who knew the guy even had a sense of humor? And when Gwaine woke and Leon was around, the older man usually sent him immediately back to sleep by telling him the latest news of the court, or exciting new developments in crossbow technology. So when Gwaine woke next, it was no surprise that it was to the sound of someone talking:

"With that, the King turns and goes.
The bisclavret follows him close;
It won't escape, it stays right near
Losing him is its only fear.
The King leads it back to his castle keep;
It pleases him, his delight is deep
For he's never seen such a creature—"

It didn't take him long to decide that this was Percival, and probably reading from one of Merlin's books of fairytales, judging by the slow, occasionally halting, rate. Thinking back on what he could remember from the past few days, Gwaine was pretty sure he'd never heard Percival talk so much in his life. And he wasn't complaining. Percival actually had interesting stories to tell. It even made Gwaine consider learning to shut up occasionally, because Percy could actually be hilarious. That just goes to show you: it's always the quiet ones…

"Bisclavret?" Gwaine asked.

Percival's head shot up from the book. "Gwaine!" He snapped the book shut and shifted so he was sitting closer to Gwaine, making Gwaine feel irritatingly small by his proximity. "How are you feeling?"

"The one about the werewolf?" Gwaine insisted, trying to dodge that last question. "And he bites her nose off in the end?"

It took Percival a moment. "Oh. You mean the story? I don't know, I've never read it before. You just…" Percival suddenly blushed hot, though Gwaine couldn't decide whether for his own embarrassment or for Gwaine's, and he looked at the floor. "I only…. You seem to rest easier when—when someone's talking."

It was only through sheer strength of will that Gwaine forced himself not to let a mortified blush take him over, though he began to feel hot. He was Gwaine, he didn't need anything to "rest easier:" that would be stupid, was what he wanted to say, but what actually came out was, "Thanks."

Percival beamed.

"Here, let's get you some water. Gaius said to give you water when you woke." Percival stood up, and as he moved away from where he sat protectively over Gwaine, an angry beam of morning light shot straight into Gwaine's eyes.

"Ow," Gwaine said. "What time is it? How'd you get out of practice?"

"Oh, Arthur's letting us off in shifts to sit with…" But that was maybe embarrassing, too, so Percival stopped, looking guiltily at Gwaine, anticipating his reaction. Gwaine was really down on his game to let them think he needed to be coddled like this. He had a reputation to protect, and even though it secretly warmed his heart and made him feel like a basketful of puppies inside, well, he couldn't let on. "Um. I think they just rang the bell for prime. Sun hasn't been up long."

This wasn't quite as helpful as Gwaine wanted it to be. "What day is it?"

Percival grinned fondly. "Here, drink up," he said, and Gwaine suffered himself to let Percival hold the cup of water, but damned if he wasn't going to lift his own head. "It's Saturday," Percival told him.

"Mmm," Gwaine said, lying back comfortably. Two days? "That's not so bad, actually."

Percival shifted.

"What, Perce?"

"It's…next Saturday."

Gwaine did the math. "Nine days?" he shrieked, practically sitting up.

"Easy, Gwaine," Percival insisted, holding him gently but firmly to the bed. And Gwaine couldn't argue Percival's strength at the best of times.

The door to the apothecary opened, and Lancelot smiled broadly at them. "He's awake!"

"And you can have him," Percival laughed. "He's starting to get fussy."

"Arthur wants you working on the shield with Leon," Lancelot explained, patting Percival on the shoulder.

"Right, see you in a bit, Gwaine."

"I'm apparently going to be left in this bed for all eternity, so you'll know where to find me," Gwaine grumbled.

Percival and Lancelot exchanged a sympathetic look as Gwaine shifted his legs helplessly, and then Percival was gone.

"Well, now, let's see what's in this pot here Gaius told me to feed you…" Lancelot said, going to the table and poking about.

"Feed?" Gwaine perked up immediately, trying to see what Lancelot was doing. He was suddenly accosted by hunger, despite the pain that remained in his belly, and found himself negotiating how meek and docile he was willing to be for a nice, hot bowl of thick stew. He decided he was probably willing to sell himself quite cheaply for such a thing.

Lancelot grinned, ladling something into a bowl. "Looks good." He took a few steps toward Gwaine, who tried to sit up, so he stopped. "Gwaine, you must lie still," he scolded, as if he was talking patiently to a rather slow child. "I don't want you hurting yourself just for a bowl of mash…"

"Oh, come on, Lancelot," Gwaine whined. "I've been here for nine days, I'm practically healed already and—wait, what? Mash? Mashed what?" He wrinkled up his nose.

Lancelot chuckled, setting the bowl on the table. "I'm not really sure. Here now, let's get you sat up. Easy does it, now," he said, gently helping Gwaine to sit up. Now Gwaine really felt himself blushing hot as he discovered how weak he actually was, and how much he had to rely on Lancelot to hold him, whether he wanted to or not. Lancelot fluffed some pillows behind him to prop him up, and refused to notice how weak Gwaine was, and how embarrassed he was at being weak.

Bloody bastard always being so stupidly nice and perfect…

"Okay, here we are," Lancelot said, laying the bowl on Gwaine's lap with a flourish. It was brownish in color, and smelled sickly sweet. "Can you manage the spoon left-handed?"

Gwaine nodded, having almost forgot about his wrist. He could probably manage the spoon right-handed, thank you very much, but he figured if he tried anything "too strenuous," Lancelot would just take the food away from him. Gwaine knew this game. He hated it. And he wasn't even sure this meal was worth it. The slop looked very unappetizing.

"Go on, Gwaine. You need to get your strength back. I promise I'll get you something a little heartier next time, if you can keep this down."

"Keep it down, ha! A challenge, is it?" Gwaine's eyes sparkled a bit. He took the spoon in an awkward fist and lifted it to his mouth. His hand shook, but it was manageable. And when he tasted it—

"Oh!" he cried.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Lancelot asked, leaping to his feet.

It was an orgasm in his mouth, that was what it was!

"Apples!" Gwaine cried gleefully, diving back for another mouthful. It sort of dribbled down his beard a bit this time as his aim was slightly off, but he didn't care. His stomach rumbled approvingly. "It's mashed apples!" he explained, his mouth full. "I think with a bit of sugar and some spices. It's heavenly."

Lancelot stuck his finger in, and tasted it. "I thought you'd be disappointed."

Gwaine tried to whack Lancelot's hand with the spoon, but he was too slow. "Disappointed? I'd sell my soul for another bowl!"

"I don't think it will come to that," Lancelot chuckled. "Easy, now," he added, seeing Gwaine's hands shaking. "You're going a bit fast. You haven't eaten in nine days, Gwaine, you'd better slow—"

It was then that Gwaine's stupid body decided to betray him, just when he needed it most! He dropped the spoon, and it clattered to the floor, spilling precious apple mash across the floor. "Damn!" he said, and tried to lift the bowl directly to his mouth, but there was no way his weakened arm could manage it, even if he used both hands.

"Okay, okay, calm down," Lancelot told him as the situation seemed to be getting out of hand, laying a gentle hand on his arm and fishing for the spoon. He wiped it off on his trousers and reclaimed the bowl.

"Hey!" Gwaine practically whimpered, fully prepared to launch into begging mode and wondering how exactly one tempted a saint.

But, "Relax," Lancelot said, "I'm going to help you. There will be much less waste, I think."

Gwaine pouted, flopping back against the pillows resignedly. "You better be quick about it, Lance," he grumbled, apparently trying to reclaim some dignity and agency by acting like a spoiled child.

But Lancelot chuckled and let it slide, and actually proceeded to spoon-feed him.

"I might forgive you for impugning my masculinity like this if I get a second bowl," Gwaine said, between mouthfuls. But his eyelids—betraying him, as usual—were already drooping.

Lancelot chuckled obligingly. "Certainly, Gwaine, anything. Arthur's orders are to treat you like a king."

…

Just when Gwaine had thought he could not possibly be any more embarrassed, later that day Gwen had entered with two buckets full of steaming water. Of course, she was a queen now, and apparently this meant she wasn't allowed to carry things herself, but it did mean she could dismiss the maids at the door.

Gwaine, who had been dosing, opened his eyes. Merlin, who had been gathering a few medicines into a pouch, smiled. "Hello, milady!"

"Merlin, what have I told you about that?"

"Sorry, Gwen," Merlin corrected, grinning ear to ear. "You're just in time. I was just about to make the rounds for Gaius."

"I don't need to be babysat," Gwaine growled.

Merlin and Gwen chuckled knowingly, but didn't say anything.

"I'll take good care of him for you, Merlin."

"Good. Make sure he doesn't stink so bad when I get back," he laughed.

"Hey! Whose fault is that?" Gwaine demanded, now fully awake. "You just leave me here in my own filth for nine days—"

"Don't be so overdramatic," Merlin teased. "The hunting trip was nine days ago. You've only been in that bed for seven days. And we've changed the linens twice."

"Oh, that's better, is it?"

"He's quite grumpy when he's cooped up like this," Merlin explained, lowering his voice, though of course not enough that Gwaine didn't feel like he was being spoken of in the third person, which of course only aggravated him more. "But I think good behavior can be bribed with the applesauce on the table there." He pointed.

"Hey, don't tell her my weakness!"

Gwen smiled at Gwaine. "I don't think he'll give me any trouble, Merlin. Thank you."

Damn. She was right, of course.

When Merlin left and she turned down the blanket, though, Gwaine gave a weak jump. "Hey, wait! What are you doing?" he practically squeaked, like she was planning on tickling him. Unfortunately, Gwen was too pure to be stripping off his blankets and clothes for any good reason, so Gwaine immediately assumed the worst.

"Oh, hush," she said, pulling a bucket over. It smelled clean and soapy. Maybe even a little flowery. "You're only going to make this harder on yourself."

"Says the married woman trying to give me a sponge bath! If that's not cruel and unusual, I don't know what is." Gwaine said, with a shameless wink and a sleazy grin. It took Gwen a split-second before she realized her mistake.

"Gwaine…." she groaned, her usual reaction to Gwaine's cheek, though she blushed a little and shook her head as she rolled up her embroidered sleeves. "I could always fetch Gaius?"

Gwaine paled at the thought, and she laughed. Although torturous, at least this was hot. Being bathed by the physician could potentially be a lot of things, but none of them remotely hot. Gwaine shook his head at her, practically begging.

So Gwen dipped a large cloth in the water before wringing it out and smothering his face with it. He flinched back, but she had anticipated this and was holding the back of his head. Once he had determined she wasn't actually trying to kill him, only reduce him to a melted puddle of childlike security and hopefully clean him up a bit, he relaxed into it.

"Mmm," he said.

"That feels nice?"

"Mm-hm."

When she took the cloth away from his face, his eyes were closed. She trailed it down to his neck and chest. "I bet it would feel nice to get your hair cleaned, but I'm afraid that will have to wait until you can take a proper bath," she said. "I've told Arthur to lend you his when you're up and about."

Gwaine wasn't listening, but was watching her listlessly. He was…kind of in love with the Queen. Not in the way Lancelot was—well, of course, he wouldn't kick her out of bed for eating toast—but really this was something more…spiritual? Pure? Maybe "devoted" was the better word. Could Gwen inspire non-sexual love even in him? If she could, Merlin clearly wasn't the only one with magic.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked. He wasn't sure why he asked it.

"Well, I can't exactly trust you with the honor of my handmaids, now, can I?"

"Nope," he giggled, as she swiped the wet cloth under his arms, which tickled. But then, "I mean, why are any of you doing this? You can't feel guilty. It's not your fault Arthur can't properly equip his hunting parties." He was trying to joke, but it wasn't working. He really needed to know.

Gwen looked at him funny, with a mixture of sadness and warmth, like she was watching a beautiful sunset. She just stared at him like that, for an uncomfortably long time, actually, before she went back to her bucket. "You know you're a lot like Arthur?" she said finally. "He's really insecure, too—"

"I'm not insecure!"

"All his life he's grown up surrounded by people who, he thinks, are forced to like him. And you, Gwaine, it's just how you are: you're a force of nature, people can't help but be taken by your charm. And like you, Arthur is very independent. Oh, he works Merlin very hard, but not nearly as hard as I've seen some royalty treat their servants. He likes to do most things himself, and he doesn't like to need help. I for one find I enjoy helping him, because he never lets anyone, so it makes me feel special. You, on the other hand, I don't think you've ever let anyone help you, ever." Her eyes bored into him, and Gwaine looked away. "So it makes me—Merlin, Percival, everyone—it makes us feel special that you let us. And I know you know people like helping their friends, so I'm not sure why you don't think it goes both ways."

Gwaine swallowed hard. This had suddenly gotten, like, serious, and he hadn't wanted that. "Not like I have much of a choice," he said, trying to chuckle. "Sort of held against my will, here, I'm not letting you do anything."

Gwen shrugged. "I don't think so. I think you'd manage to look after yourself if you had to."

God, she knew! How did she know so much?

Okay. Time to cheapen the moment. Quick.

"You know, there is something you could look after, actually…" Gwaine said huskily, with a lecherous grin as the cloth trailed down toward his groin.

Gwen looked shocked before she remembered she was talking to Gwaine and therefore nothing should ever shock her, and whacked him on the nose, making his eyes sting.

"I'm going to tell Arthur you said that!" she cried.

"Oh, please don't tell him," Gwaine said, the grin still lingering. "I'm not in any state to contend with the combined powers of the Princess' prattishness and his jealousy. I was only joking. I'll be a good boy."

Gwen laughed like she didn't believe him.