A/N: Thanks for your continued support and also your patience with my slow updating! I wanted to get this chapter juuuuust right, so I was very picky with it. Thanks to EffervescentAardvark for helping get this chapter just right! There will be one more final chapter as a kind of epilogue, and then we're done!

...

Gwaine had, he thought, actually performed more or less admirably under the circumstances. Considering his audience was Merlin, who knew him distressingly well and had almost figured out how to tell when he was lying (and therefore gave him the occasionally probing look), Gwaine had pulled it off rather well. When he had woken from his talk with Arthur where—well, he hadn't quite fainted, no, he wouldn't say that—but it was the closest he would ever admit to having come, certainly—Merlin was hovering worriedly over him, and Gwaine had had to pull it together pretty quickly before Merlin suspected anything.

Because Gwaine, who was intimately familiar with fates worse than death, knew that letting Merlin know what Arthur was going to do to him, to see that look on his face, not to mention watching him try to throw away his life to save him (which, bless him, he would do, even though Gwaine wasn't worth it)—that would truly be worse than dying. Gwaine wasn't afraid of death.

Or so he'd thought.

For the next two days, he hadn't slept. His appetite had gone. He was able to blame this a bit on the belly wounds, which were generally healing well, but some food had to be had, and he was fed more tonics than anything, which were an attempt to get him to regain an appetite he was sure he was never going to have again. Still, he ate, because Merlin and Gaius and Percival and Leon and Elyan and Lancelot and Gwen all looked like the world might end whenever he said he wasn't hungry. But it was with a strong sense of irony that he ate "to get his strength back" since he was just going to die, anyway. Everything seemed a waste: the food, the bandages, the medicines—Merlin risking his life to pull him out of that dream. He wanted to tell them not to bother, but he also didn't want them to worry.

Because on the other hand, Arthur was a good man, in spite of everything. He hadn't told anyone. He hadn't dragged him up in front of the court then and there. He was allowing him to face death like a man, letting him get his strength back. He was, Gwaine suspected, maybe even giving him a chance to run for it, if he could or wanted to. But Gwaine wouldn't. His mother was finally going to be pardoned, her ghost able to rest easy and stop haunting him. Lamorak and Caerleon were to be disgraced. And it was no secret that Gwaine had a vindictive streak: he would cut off his nose to spite his face, and do it gladly.

And it wasn't as if he didn't deserve death, for various and sundry reasons that really only began with homicide and accessory to matricide. Many more defenseless than he, or who were not so skilled at running from their problems, had died for far lesser crimes. He was sick of living with the guilt, sick of running from it. Sick of the faces haunting him, sick of waiting for Arthur and everyone else to find out. And now he was finally doing the right thing, owning up and taking it like a man, which he ought to have done years ago, before he'd had time to royally arse up so many other lives.

He hoped the rest of the knights wouldn't hate him for what he'd done, for putting on that he was noble and honorable like they were—truly noble, not by blood, but something deeper. When the list of his crimes was read out in court he would be bringing shame on the red cloak that had come to mean so much to him, and he could only hope that they realized he hadn't meant to bring shame to them, to sully their reputation across the kingdoms. Maybe by finally facing his death as a knight should, he would help minimize the damage he'd already done. He wasn't afraid of dying—he'd faced it often enough—even wanted it more than once—and the inevitable was, if he was honest with himself, well past due. It was time he paid the piper. It wasn't the dying he was afraid of, it was the fear of…being afraid, of losing his nerve in front of everyone, of bringing yet more disgrace to his friends. Death itself was more of an irritant, really: because of course it only came to claim him now that he had found friends, love, safety, and stability—now that he had something to lose. Most of all, though, Gwaine was afraid of what his death would do to Merlin. Merlin, who for some unfathomable reason didn't hate him, who actually really truly cared about him, out of the goodness of his heart more than for anything Gwaine ever did to deserve it. A heart like that needed to be protected.

And Gwaine was going to do that if it killed him.

Ironic.

Now he stood with Sir Leon in an anteroom just outside the doors to the throne room, on The Big Day. The entire court was there. All the knights were there, Elyan, Lancelot, Percival, all in their finest ceremonial armor. Gwaine was conspicuously armor-free—ostensibly because he was still "too weak" to be wearing armor—but Gwaine knew that it would prove a logistic problem when he was inevitably taken to the dungeons or straight to the block. Arthur was a by the book man, though he was actually honorable about it unlike his father, but nevertheless Gwaine was sure justice would be swift.

Still, Arthur wanted him wearing the red cloak of Camelot. He liked that whole pomp and circumstance thing. But it made Gwaine feel sick wearing it. He imagined that it would be the first to go. It would serve as the symbolic stripping of his title, before he was—

Well, he hoped he wouldn't be hanged as a common criminal. That was a terrible way to go.

"I only hope I die well," Gwaine blurted out to Leon, quietly, without really meaning to.

Leon half-grinned at him. "Oh, come now, Sir Gwaine, it won't be that bad," he chuckled.

Gwaine struggled not to throw up: either Leon didn't know, or he apparently really hated Gwaine. He was pretty sure that if Arthur had briefed anyone about what the court proceedings would entail, it would be Leon. Gwaine glared up at him, trying to assess what he knew, but finally gave up: "Arthur told you what's going on?"

"Yes, more or less," Leon beamed. "You'll get what's owed you, Gwaine, I promise."

Wow. Okay…

Somehow, though, Gwaine couldn't dredge up the energy to be angry, or even hurt. He deserved every bit of Leon's contempt. He began to re-think how the others would react when they knew, and braced himself for the worst.

"Well, for the record, it was an honor serving with you," Gwaine managed.

Now Leon gave him a queer look, as if trying to assess whether he was trying to be funny, and if so, how. "And with you," he said. Then, "Sir Gwaine, are you all right? You look a little…"

"I'm fine," Gwaine said hurriedly, panic flaring through him at the thought of postponing the inevitable, of prolonging the torture, of letting them see him afraid. He looked away from Leon and swallowed dryly, staring at the door.

Trumpets sounded.

"That's your cue," Leon said, holding the door open for him. They made it out to the hall before Gwaine stopped, gripping Leon's cloak. "Sir Gwaine? What is it?"

He had to say it, and this was going to be his only chance:

"I know I shouldn't ask any favors, Leon, but I just need you to do one thing for me." An empty, terrifying, sucking hole manifested in the center of his chest. Gwaine could think of nothing more horrible than sending his dearest friend away at the moment he needed him most, but the alternative was even worse. "If not for me, then for Merlin."

Leon looked very confused. "Anything, Sir Gwaine."

Gwaine took a deep breath, holding back the urge to scream. "You can't let Merlin see. You know what it will do to him," he said.

In a single moment, Leon's expression flicked from comfortably confused to very, very, very alarmed.

"Gwaine, no," he breathed, whining, pleading, even, but he knew it wouldn't do any good. Sir Leon was a man who picked his battles wisely. He was a diplomat: he bent, he swayed, and he was willing to compromise heavily on quite a lot of things. He had worked for Uther long enough for this to be beaten into him. But even with Uther, every once in a while he was struck by something so completely wrong that logic, propriety, and diplomacy be damned, and he would dig his heels in and insist.

This was absolutely one of those times.

Gwaine was… Wrong? Confused? Mistaken? Ill? Mad? Gwaine had thought—had been thinking this entire time—that they would—that Arthur would—why? How did that happen?

Did it matter?

Good God!

This had to stop. Stop now. This whole thing had to stop until it had been sorted out.

"Merlin?...Merlin!" Leon called, in a hoarse whisper-cry, not daring to take his eyes off of Gwaine, who, now that Leon was really looking at him and knew what to look for, appeared cagey and very pale underneath the hard-set jaw insisting he was all right when he most certainly was not.

"No, no!" Gwaine hissed. "Leon, you can't stop it now, please—you owe me that much," he tried. But before Leon could even think of how to answer that, Merlin poked his head around the door, grinning.

"Come one, Gwaine, everyone's waiting—" he started to say, but stopped dead as soon as he saw Gwaine. His eyes flicked to Leon, who hauled the scrawny servant bodily out of the throne room and shoved him at Gwaine, who startled, but they caught hold of each other, rather automatically. "What's wrong?" Merlin demanded of them both.

"Leon," Gwaine said, ignoring Merlin—he had to ignore Merlin—he would fall apart if he let Merlin in, "I know I don't deserve it, but if you ever had any scrap of respect for me, you will get Merlin out of here now. I won't be able to do this if—"

"Gwaine, I am doing this because I have every respect for you," Leon replied, before wheeling on Merlin, "Stay with him," he told the servant, ushering them back to the anteroom for privacy. Even at this distance Leon could tell that Gwaine's clenched fists were trembling, and his breath had quickened, and a public venue was not the place for this. "Stay with him," he ordered, "and do not leave. I'll be right back."

Leon marched into the throne room. A few of the minstrels started up their next song, but quickly faltered when they realized it was only him. Arthur looked confused, as did the Queen and the other knights. The court erupted into hushed whispers, as the nobles wondered what was going on. Undeterred, Sir Leon marched directly to the front of the hall, up the steps to the King's side, and, leaning down, whispered in his ear:

"I suggest you disperse the court, Sire. Sir Gwaine is not well." Arthur squinted at him, unbelieving, so Leon tried again: "He somehow is under the impression that all this is because you are going to execute him, Sire."

Arthur jerked like he had been hit. He looked to Leon briefly for confirmation, but Sir Leon had never lied to him, and he was almost never wrong. The King blinked, slightly winded, but recovered quickly and addressed the court.

"This session of the court is postponed indefinitely. I apologize for calling you here without need. Please await our pleasure," he said, more or less on automatic before nodding for his knights and his Queen to follow him out of the great hall.

…

"Gwaine, what on earth is wrong?" Merlin tried, rubbing his hands up and down the knight's arms. He was cool to the touch. He had never seen Gwaine's normally very expressive face schooled into such cold neutrality.

Gwaine was only shaking his head, though it blended in now with the all-over shaking. It reminded Merlin, briefly, terribly, of how he had found Gwaine after that conversation with Arthur a few days ago. Merlin had considered eavesdropping on that conversation, but had decided against it, trusting to his two friends to be mature about things, but he was cursing himself for it now. All the rage that had boiled in him at Arthur for having said anything to so distress Gwaine (which Gwaine had quickly assured him was nonsense, but, big surprise, he had been lying), was now back full force.

"I'm okay," Gwaine told him, his eyes unfocused, staring straight ahead at nothing. "I'm okay. You have to go, Merlin, please. Just tell Leon to get on with it, and I want you to leave. I'm afraid I won't be able to do this if you're there."

"Gwaine, I am not going anywhere. Look, just tell me what's wrong! What are you so afraid of?"

"Nothing!" Gwaine replied automatically, his eyes finally finding Merlin. He looked either angry or about to cry, or both. "At least—damn it, Merlin!" he screamed in frustration, "I was never afraid of death until I met you!"

But the door slamming open frightened the tears from falling, and they quickly dried up, along with Gwaine's speech, at the sight of the King stalking toward him. His body stiffened and he stood rigid, like a soldier at attention.

"I'm sorry," Gwaine whispered at Merlin, apparently having forgotten that he had already apologized and been more than forgiven for anything he could possibly have done and Merlin was actually growing tired of his needless apologies. Gwaine's eyes were fixed, warily, on King Arthur.

Merlin stepped forward, shielding Gwaine bodily from the King.

"What's going on?" he demanded.

Arthur tried to look past him at Gwaine, but Merlin didn't let him. "I was hoping you could tell me," he replied.

Part of Merlin expected Gwaine to interject at this point, but nothing was forthcoming, and that only fueled his own rage. "What have you done to him?" Merlin practically shrieked. He looked to Leon for an explanation, then back at Arthur, before rounding out the accusations with a glare at the entire room—at all of the knights and even at Gwen. "What did you say?"

"Merlin…" Gwaine groaned, finding his voice too late and feeling like his whole body was going to rattle apart in front of everyone if someone didn't put a stop to this right now. "I'm okay," he tried again, which Merlin promptly ignored.

Gwaine now realized that his failure was complete: he would die in total ignobility just as he had begun. He was a coward. If he had just kept his mouth shut and held it together, everything would soon be over, but now Arthur had dismissed the court, and he would be sent to wait in the cells while everyone talked about how he was too cowardly to face justice.

He couldn't even get death right.

"Merlin," Arthur said, trying to be patient. "I need to speak to Gwaine alone."

"Not on your life!" Merlin snapped. Gwaine's hands had reached out, clinging to him, so Merlin eased himself a little closer, ostensibly to give stability, though no one else knew how tactile of a person Gwaine was, and how much human touch comforted him. "I'm not leaving you two alone to 'talk' ever again! What did you say to him?" Merlin's glare was apparently as impressive as he hoped, because Arthur swallowed hard.

"Merlin…" Gwaine tried again, weaker.

"Are you sure we should…" Arthur began, looking around.

"Yes. This is all the 'court' we need. This is as public as it is going to get for now." No one questioned why the King's manservant was giving orders. Not when they were so bloody well sound.

Arthur nodded his consent.

Behind him, Merlin felt Gwaine shrink, defeated, against the wall, sliding down until he sat on the floor with his head buried in his hands. Merlin wheeled back around to face his charge, and crouched beside him, gripping his shoulder. Gwaine looked up at him, briefly, but the Gwaine he was greeted with reminded Merlin of the hollow, listless Gwaine of the dreamwalk. Merlin realized in this terrible, clear moment, that this empty-Gwaine had always been there—always, was in every forced smile, every sad laugh since Merlin had known him—but remained covered up, maintained, held in, forced down, except for rare moments in which Gwaine was weak or caught off-guard. It made Merlin's stomach clench, but it made his glare steely, so when Gwaine had again buried his face and Merlin sent the room another sharp look, they presently leapt to do his bidding.

There was a brief commotion as everyone got settled, gathering around the fallen knight. Someone fetched a chair for Gwen. Arthur knelt down beside them.

"Gwaine?" Merlin coaxed, gently, easing Gwaine's hands from his face. He was blushing red to his ears, clearly even in all of this anguish mortified at how he appeared in front of his friends. "Gwaine, I need you to tell me—"

But Gwaine was shaking his head, insisting on hiding his face. "Stop, stop, stop," he said, and, "I'm sorry," for good measure.

"Stop what, Gwaine?" Merlin asked.

Gwaine looked at him, suddenly, gritting his teeth, desperately trying to whisper quietly enough not to be heard by anyone but Merlin: "You have to stop—I can't keep it—if you—you mustn't let me—"

Merlin was pretty sure that what Gwaine meant by this garbled nonsense was that he didn't want to show any (further) weakness or emotion in front of the others, and that Merlin would force it out of him if he kept treating him with kindness like this.

Merlin was also pretty sure he didn't give a damn. It was Merlin's considered opinion that most of Gwaine's problems stemmed from not showing emotion—genuine emotion, not the devil-may-care-playboy emotions he played at to make himself look cool—in front of his friends. He was worse than Arthur.

"Gwaine," he said, as sternly and as gently as he could manage. "It's okay."

And there went one tear, as Gwaine fixed him with a broken, betrayed look which Merlin refused to be swayed by even as he thumbed away the tear. Gwaine's jaw was still set, stubbornly determined, but this was a start, at least.

Arthur seemed to have found his voice. "Gwaine, what—tell me what you think this was all about," he tried, adding a hurried, "please," at the behest of Merlin's sharp look.

Gwaine trembled, drawing in a shuddering breath. He couldn't draw his knees up to his chest, but he wrapped his arms around his middle. His face looked very thin and pale. He did not raise his eyes from where they were fixed on Merlin's knee. "You're going to—" but here he stopped, sniffed, reclaimed some of his virtus, and continued, forcing his voice to be steady. "My mother was executed for a crime she did not commit," he explained, carefully, for the benefit of the audience, since it was going to come out anyway. "And you were going to bring the actual perpetrator to justice. And I'm ready to die, I just—"

The pressure in the room changed at all of the loud gasps. "Gwaine!" Arthur shouted desperately, just as Merlin shouted "Arthur!" accusingly.

"I deserve death, don't I? I killed Lamorak. It is I who should have died," Gwaine went on, desperate to fill the weighty silence before anyone else could try to say the wrong thing. He had managed to pull himself away, to safely distance himself, and the words tumbled out, void of any emotion: "Instead I let her take the blame for me." As before, it was easier now that Gwaine had gotten going. "Additionally, Arthur has a list of various other crimes to which I have confessed. The only fitting punishment is death. I'm sure when you have heard the list you will agree. And I only ask that—"

"Did you tell him that?" Merlin shouted, rounding on Arthur. He wouldn't have put it past Arthur to say or heavily imply something like that just to scare Gwaine into behaving or something.

"No!" Arthur bellowed. "I certainly did not—I would not!"

Merlin wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry as he looked between the two of them, probably his two dearest friends in the entire world. "You two do speak the same language, don't you?" He looked at Arthur, for Gwaine was silent, gritting his teeth again, not daring to speak or look anyone in the eye. "Try again, Arthur."

And Arthur did: "Gwaine. This was not meant to be your trial. I did not say that. Gwaine, you—Gwaine, look at me!"

"Look at him, Gwaine," Merlin said.

Slowly, Gwaine turned his head and raised his eyes.

"Gwaine, youare not going to die."

"I have to," Gwaine whispered, shaking his head, breaking eye contact again. "My mother—my crimes—"

Arthur looked to Merlin, who was edging slightly away so that Arthur could move in closer. "He is not going to die! Translate that!" he half-joked in exasperation, as if to say See! It's not my fault he misunderstood me, I'm being as clear as I possibly can!, then he grabbed the side of Gwaine's head, forcing him to look at him. "Gwaine, no one is getting executed today—certainly not you! I had drawn up only pardons for the proceedings today. I can show them to you, Gwaine, I swear it. Pardons for every single possible transgression. What did I say wrong that you so grossly mistook me? Why can you not trust me?"

"I do trust you," Gwaine whispered, not daring to hope, convinced that this was wrong. "I trust you to do the right thing by punishing me," he said, trying to look away, but Arthur wouldn't let him.

"Then you do not know me very well," Arthur said, holding his gaze. And there was that shine, that too-quick blink in the King's eyes that betrayed raw emotions, and suddenly Gwaine lost it. With a shuddering sob, tears practically exploded out of Gwaine's eyes and ran down his face. But after only a second, Gwaine seemed to have realized he had sprung a leak and quickly set about damage control, halting the flow and, wrenching himself free from Arthur's grasp, wiped furiously at his face with his sleeves. Before he knew it, Gwen was on his other side, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief and stroking his hair. This show of kindness only made it harder to control himself, and there was nowhere he could turn that wasn't surrounded on all sides by friends.

"I'm sorry," he said, wishing the earth would just swallow him up, as the tears, unbidden, continued to flow. "I'm sorry. But I thought—I just thought that—"

"Gwaine," Arthur said, in a rare moment of deep perception, "you thought you deserved death, and you thought I would give it to you. But you don't, and I won't. It is my fault that I permitted my words to be perceived so—" Arthur now reached out, tentatively, to touch Gwaine's shoulder, leery both of Gwaine's previous fear of him as well as Merlin's apparently militant defense of the knight. But the touch went unhindered. In fact, Merlin backed off, letting Arthur move in as he continued: "Gwaine, how could you possibly think I would blame you for defending your mother at age nine? How could you think I would blame you for doing what you had to in order to survive? I am enraged that the courts took Lamorak's side, and I am even more furious at Caerleon's disgraceful misconduct, though I am hardly surprised by it. Gwaine, look at me." Gwaine did. "I forgive you."

Once he was out of Gwaine's line of sight, Merlin caught Arthur's attention and brought his arms together exaggeratedly, pantomiming an embrace. "Hug him," he mouthed.

Arthur trusted Merlin's judgment on this, certainly after the apparent debacle two days ago, and pressed himself forward until he had gathered the trembling knight into his arms. At first Gwaine stiffened, jerking back with a shocked sniffle, but though this was hardly the King's medium, Arthur did not shrink back. After a long, tense pause, Gwaine finally threw his arms around the King's neck, burying his face in Arthur's shoulder and sobbing openly. Arthur felt Gwaine relax against him, and, reflecting, he was pretty sure Gwaine had never trusted him more—perhaps, had never trusted anyone more—and he thought that was a nice change, and even an honor.

They stayed like that for some time, Gwaine crying out all his fear and anxiety until he was reduced to a weeping mass of stunned relief and gratitude, fisting his hands in Arthur's cloak, clinging to the King as if for dear life.

"Thank you," he whispered, the sound almost lost in tears and Arthur's shoulder.

"You're welcome, Gwaine," Arthur finally managed, once he had his own voice under control. "Now, you translate this however you have to to get it into that thick skull of yours, because I want you to understand this: I am proud of you." Gwaine made a noise into his shoulder, and Arthur felt a new flood of tears soaking his ceremonial robes. "Most of the time, at any rate," he felt the need to add, teasing, and Gwaine hiccupped and laughed appreciatively into his shoulder. "You are, at the very least, amongst the ever-dwindling number of people related to me by blood who have not tried to kill me. In fact—"

At that, Gwaine sniffed and drew back, looking at Arthur with his signature confused-pout, though his eyes were red and puffy. "I what?"

"You know how it is," Arthur explained, "I don't exactly have much luck with my relatives—"

"No, I mean—" Gwaine sniffed and wiped at his face as if clearing the tears would help the world make more sense, "what?"

Arthur blinked, and started. "Wait, you mean you didn't know? I thought you knew!"

"Knew what?" Gwaine shouted, growing agitated again.

Merlin grinned, in on the secret.

"Yes, Arthur," Lancelot piped up. He had almost forgotten that they had an audience, and Arthur actually flushed a bit, looking around him. "Knew what?"

"Gwaine's grandfather and my grandfather were brothers. Sir Gwaine is my closest living male relative, in fact." Arthur watched Gwaine carefully to see how he was handling this. Gwaine was, in turn, staring carefully at Arthur, as if trying to determine if Arthur was just having him on. "It's true!" he insisted. "Do I need to fetch Geoffrey to show you the documents? I can't believe you didn't know!"

Gwaine sat still, his mouth flapping. "I—I knew my parents were of noble houses, but—you mean to say I—I'm royalty?" Arthur wasn't sure whether Gwaine looked pleased or disgusted by this.

"Yes, Gwaine. That was what the ceremony was for, you know. To welcome you into the family. If—" Arthur paused, struck with a hitherto unconsidered possibility: "If you want to, that is."

"Do you want to?" Gwaine shot back immediately, absolutely unable to believe anyone would willingly claim him as a blood relation.

Arthur laughed. "I think we may need to have a talk about how Camelot royalty should spend their Friday nights, but other than that, yes, Gwaine, I very much want to."

Gwaine smiled softly, genuinely, at that, as far as everyone could tell. Then, suddenly remembering his duty to spoil all precious moments, he jerked his head up at where the knights stood together. "So does that mean they now have to call me 'milady'?"

There was a beat.

Then the small room erupted into laughter, as Gwaine never passed up the opportunity to crack a joke, no matter how awful. Also, one was crying or angry anymore, and that seemed as good a reason as any to laugh.

"I was thinking 'Duke,' actually," Arthur said.

Gwaine blinked.

Gwaine blinked again and then smiled that smile. The smile that made Merlin groan and the knights run for cover.

"Does that mean I outrank Leon?" he asked, impishly.

Leon actually looked a little faint, and Gwaine laughed boisterously, wiggling his feet, caring less about the answer than Leon's reaction.

"In court, conceivably, but not on the field," Arthur explained, rolling his eyes but smiling in spite of himself. Then an idea struck him, "You might actually have to show up to council meetings once in a while!" he cried, with no little relish as he stood, offering Gwaine a hand up.

Gwaine wrinkled up his nose. "Ugh," he said, taking Arthur's hand, letting the combined strength of him and Merlin haul him to his feet. "I didn't know nobles actually had to do stuff."

"I think there is a great deal about nobility you don't know," Arthur said, determined to turn this into an educational opportunity. "There is a pretty steep learning curve: I hope you are up for the challenge."

"I'm always—" Gwaine began, caught out by a yawn mid-sentence, "up for a challenge," he concluded with a sleepy grin. He looked worn out from his ordeal, and blinked around at the room sluggishly. "Hey, listen, I'm starving. Any chance there was going to be anything to eat at this ceremony?"

Merlin looked relieved. "You mean you're actually hungry?"

"I could eat a horse," he confirmed, trying to take a step and wobbling dangerously before Percival inserted himself under Gwaine's arm. Exhausted as he was, he was even willing to go along with this. "Take me home, by way of the kitchens," he said, waving his hand with aristocratic, if sloppy, extravagance. "Or I'll have your head, or something."

"As you wish, milady," Percival said.