AN: This chapter (and this work, really) is dedicated to Effervescent Aardvark on her birthday today (even though she's helping me write it, which is really not classy of me, but whatevs)! Also thanks to Caitydid, also co-writing this fic with me.
...
With Gwaine injured, the trio couldn't make it back to Camelot before dark. They made camp, and while Percival tried to make Gwaine as comfortable as possible, Merlin built a fire and made something edible out of what little he could find in the knights' saddle bags. He tried very hard not to think while he did all the chores he was used to doing, that he'd done for the knights and for Arthur hundreds of times. Except now there was no Arthur, and only Percival and Gwaine.
Eventually Merlin gave up on repacking saddlebags that didn't need repacking and sat back on his heels, shoulders hunched forward as he stared at the ground. Arthur was gone. Gwaine had almost been killed, and Merlin didn't know how that had happened. It didn't actually matter how it'd happened, he decided, only that he'd very nearly lost his two best friends in one day—could still lose them both, in fact. When he closed his eyes in an attempt to regain his composure, he saw only Gwaine as he'd last seen him: handing him his own sword, never mind that he had to journey back through woodland infested with bandits and enemy soldiers, and letting him keep a secret they both knew Gwaine already knew. And he'd known, he'd known when he'd seen that look, that Gwaine thought he didn't trust him, and he'd thought at the time that he would deal with it later. And...and now there might not be a later.
The smell of burning stew startled Merlin out of his painful thoughts and he jumped up to remove it from the fire.
"Stew," he announced softly, looking over towards Gwaine and Percival.
Percival nodded distractedly from where he leaned over Gwaine, who appeared to be sleeping or unconscious again. He had taken the opportunity to unclasp Gwaine's shoulder plates and remove his gloves and bracers. Then, easing Gwaine into a sitting position, he tugged the smaller knight out of his chain mail until he was only in his much more comfortable tunic. Finally he wrapped the blankets and cloaks more tightly around Gwaine and laid him back flat.
Now Percival turned back to the fire, to where Merlin was despondently stirring the stew.
"Thanks," Percival said as Merlin handed him a bowl. He glanced at Gwaine, who was out like a light, and decided the first bowl would be his, and wolfed it down. Now the knight turned his attention to Merlin, who was even less talkative than usual. Percival was not usually good with words, but he'd seen how close Arthur and Merlin had been—the loss was surely hitting him harder than most—and he had to try:
But when he opened his mouth to speak, Percival noticed the sword at Merlin's belt: "Is that Gwaine's sword?" he asked.
Merlin stiffened, looking down at the blade as if he'd forgotten it was there. "Oh. Yeah," he said. "He... he gave it to me," Merlin added, looking dully at the blade. He stood and clumsily removed it, because swords had never suited him, and Gwaine should have his sword back— Merlin certainly didn't deserve it. Then he sat back down, curled his knees up to his chest, wrapped his arms around them, and rested his chin on his knees. He didn't say anything to Percival, because he had nothing to say. But when the knight was done eating, Merlin held up the second bowl and looked over at Gwaine.
"If he can eat..." he said, and was glad when Percival rose and went to see if he could get Gwaine to swallow some of the stew.
Gwaine opened his eyes as Percival knelt beside him. His hand was warm on his face. "Hey, Gwaine, can you eat something?" he asked, touching the spoon to his lips.
Gwaine stiffened, murmured a negative, and jerked his head away, but gave no other sign. His eyes, when they fluttered open, were vacant and lifeless, and if he could see at all Gwaine did not look at him, which worried Percival. Swallowing hard, Percival set aside the bowl and instead lifted Gwaine, pulling him against his chest. "Gwaine," he whispered, "don't you leave me," but he wasn't certain he wasn't already too late. He wasn't certain Gwaine hadn't been gone already—maybe when they hanged Eira, or maybe earlier, when he'd come back from escorting Merlin to—
"Why did he give you his sword?" Percival asked, twisting back around to face Merlin, careful of the still form he held in his arms. "What happened when he brought you to the Valley of the Fallen Kings?"
"He wanted me to be able to defend myself against bandits," Merlin responded, raising his head from his knees to look briefly at Percival before he dropped his chin back down and resumed staring at the fire. For the briefest of seconds, he saw, overlaid on their fire, the fire where he'd conjured the dragon for Arthur. Then he shook his head, forcing the thought away. "And then he wished me luck and he left," he said dully to Percival. There was also that part where he'd given Merlin ample opportunity to just admit it, admit he was doing something magical. He'd given him the chance to trust him, and Merlin had just thrown it back in his face.
But this short answer wasn't, apparently, good enough for Percival: "He said he failed," he pressed. "And it wasn't just about what he told Morgana. Why did he think he failed?"
Merlin took a deep breath, no matter that it didn't steady him at all, and squeezed his eyes closed. Should he tell Percival? Was there any point to this stupid charade anymore? Merlin wasn't sure he even cared about the answer to the last one.
"I didn't... I didn't tell him," he said. "He asked me, he gave me the chance, and I just... let him leave. I didn't tell him, I didn't say anything, and he..." he could be dying, Merlin wasn't sure. "I can do magic, Percival. Gwaine knows, but I never told him. He as much as asked me if that's what I was doing at the cave, and I didn't say anything, and he thinks..." Merlin stopped, because it felt like the words were caught up, along with all of his breath, in a tight throat. He'd already cried so much today. He couldn't do this, he just couldn't. Gwaine, with his heart of absolute gold, thought he'd failed. It made Merlin's heart hurt, what little was left to feel. "I think... Does he think he failed me? Because I wouldn't tell him?" Merlin asked Percival, although it was probably more of a statement than a question.
Percival's heart was tangled in his throat, and he was surprised by a rush of anger that brought tears to his eyes. "Why?" he demanded. He never thought he'd speak to Merlin this way (and certainly not after he knew he had magic), but it rent his heart to hear how Merlin had treated Percival's best friend. "Why didn't you—" he stopped, to get a hold of himself, and turned back to the figure of Gwaine, pale and lifeless: but that only made it worse. The anger bled out of him and his shoulders drooped as he viewed the other knight, wrecked as he was. "Gwaine has enough hang-ups about friends and friendship," he said, quietly, almost to himself. "He'd do anything for the least of us and never expects—" he choked here again, and wiped at his eyes furiously. "He gave everything to protect Arthur, and you, and he thinks he failed you both and—" No. He couldn't say anymore. Merlin didn't deserve this. Percival sniffled and tried again. "Anyway, the magic doesn't seem to matter anymore, does it?" he said with a shrug. "I asked Gwaine about it once I suspected—he didn't even give you away when I asked him, so."
Merlin wasn't sure what he was supposed to say to any of this. Gwaine had known about his magic, but he hadn't told Percival even when Percival asked? He'd kept Merlin's secret from everyone without even being asked, and all he'd asked for in return was the truth of what he'd already known, and Merlin hadn't been able to even give him that much. No wonder Gwaine had hang-ups about friends, if he managed always to find ones like Merlin. "I'm sorry," Merlin said, earnestly meaning it. He couldn't fix any of this. He couldn't bring Arthur back, he couldn't fix Gwaine, he wasn't entirely sure he could be bothered to put himself back together, except he'd have to if he wanted to do what he could for his friend. All that magic, all that nonsense about destiny and two sides of the same coin and the most powerful warlock the world had ever seen, and he'd finally screwed everything up so thoroughly that it couldn't be fixed. "If anyone failed, Percival, it wasn't Gwaine," Merlin said, finally. "I can't… my magic is useless at healing, but…" but he had to do something, because he couldn't let Gwaine die. "Can I—is there something I can do? I can take watch or—or anything." He looked around the camp, almost frantically, for something to do, something to distract himself because it was better than the alternative.
Percival's eyes were still on Gwaine. "You should have a look at him. I don't—I don't know what to do."
Merlin hesitated before approaching Gwaine because he didn't want to upset him. He wasn't sure why Gwaine had avoided his touch earlier, but he had an idea. Merlin had failed miserably at being a friend, especially recently, and he didn't exactly blame Gwaine for wanting him nowhere near him, but Merlin couldn't help him from all the way across camp. As far as he could see, Percival had only got Gwaine out of his armor and kept him warm, which was better than nothing, but Gwaine needed a physician—or at least a physician's apprentice. He was so silent, so still, Merlin was almost scared he'd find that Gwaine was...but he did it anyway, knowing that in this small way at least he could maybe help Gwaine.
He crouched at Gwaine's side and did as thorough of an examination as he could by sight alone first, not wanting to disturb him further. The knight's face was very pale, and his eyes darkened in shadow, and his brow creased in pain or something else Merlin didn't want to think about. His breathing was very shallow and almost wheezy, like he had something in his lungs. When Merlin finally had to touch him, Gwaine did react: it was with a small, breathy whimper that sounded nothing like Gwaine, and a sound they wouldn't have heard if they hadn't been listening for it. But after this, and a small shift, Gwaine was still again, and Merlin released a breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding.
"I'm so sorry, Gwaine," he said, although he wasn't sure Gwaine would even hear him, and continued looking his friend over for injuries. The familiarity of the work steadied him, marginally, pushing everything else to a bearable distance so he could do this one thing for Gwaine. There was blood caked in one ear and in his hair, but it looked like there was no more fresh blood. He was warm to the touch, and Merlin felt sick as he saw the side of Gwaine's neck raw with bite-marks. His veins were painted black over most of his neck and shoulder, and it smelled vaguely of pitch.
"He was…he was bitten a lot," Merlin said, his voice uneven.
"I heard the screams," Percival ground out.
"The Nathair poison isn't usually fatal, in small doses," Merlin explained carefully, because quoting from Gaius' books was safer than using his own words and this was not a small dose by any stretch. "It causes—" but no, it was too obvious that Gwaine was in 'agony beyond the limit of human endurance.' "It sucks the truth out of the person, no matter—no matter how much they resist. It, ah, it looks like Gwaine resisted. A lot."
Percival dug his fingernails into his palms and nodded.
"I should," Merlin struggled to his feet, "I'll see if I can make some willowbark tea, to help with the pain." He didn't think it would work, but anything was worth a try. "You should try to wake him up, talk to him if you can. If nothing else, he needs to drink some water."
Merlin paused by the fire to get his bearings, since he hadn't really noticed where they'd come from. They usually tried to camp by water, so he listened, in silence broken only by Gwaine's wheezing breaths, for the trickle of a creek. Then he crashed off through the forest to his right. His supplies were with his and Arthur's horses, wherever they were in the world, but he knew he'd find a willow where there was water.
He chose a small willow, and tried to pull at the bark with his fingernails, since he'd forgotten a knife. When this didn't work, in a sudden fury, he glared at the tree, his eyes went gold, and all of the bark fell to the ground. Then he realized he'd as good as killed the poor tree, stifled an I-can't-do-anything-right sob, and his eyes glowed gold again. The bark plastered itself back to the tree, but then fell off as soon as the spell was done. Merlin hunched his shoulders. So now, in addition to not being able to save Arthur and doing Gwaine absolutely no good whatsoever, he'd killed a tree whose only crime had been having bark he couldn't pry loose with a fingernail. He couldn't do anything right. With a miserable sigh, he reached down and collected as much of the bark as he could use and stumbled back toward the campfire.
As Merlin moved away, Percival scooted closer to where Gwaine lay. He wasn't sure what hurt or where not to touch, so he started by laying a hand on Gwaine's brow. It was indeed warm, and now that his head was tilted to the right he could see the mass of raw black and red skin on his throat. "Gwaine?" Percival all but whispered, leaning down close. "Gwaine, can you hear me, mate?"
To his surprise and pleasure, Gwaine stirred, as if wrenching himself from a deep sleep. He made a noise in his throat that sounded like an attempt at words, but when nothing coherent formed he settled on nodding weakly, with a decided wince.
Percival didn't like the sound or look of this, and against his better judgment he pleaded, "Gwaine, can you talk to me? Please, Gwaine, I need you to wake up. Can you give me a sign?"
Now the noise he made was more of a tortured sob, and "Please," was all he managed. Dirty tears ran down his face.
"Oh, oh, easy, easy," Percival said anxiously, and before he knew it he had collected Gwaine in his arms. "Does this hurt?" he asked, a bit late he supposed, but better than never.
"No," Gwaine whispered. "Good."
Percival was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth that Gwaine was talking at all, and just thanked his lucky stars. He had been nearly catatonic before, and he feared this lucid spell wouldn't last long, so, "Here, can you drink something for me?" and when Gwaine gave a slight nod, he tipped the waterskin into his mouth. Most of it went down his chin, but some ended up in his mouth, and Percival saw him swallow. Then, "Where does it hurt, Gwaine?" he pressed gently.
Gwaine again made a horrible noise in his chest, like he was trying to clear it of something with a whine instead of a cough. "My head. Everywhere," he slurred. "Perce, p-please."
"Please?" Percival repeated dumbly. Gwaine hardly ever said please. "Please what, Gwaine?"
Gwaine's breath hitched. He seemed briefly confused before blurting out, "D-don' leave me." He was shaking, faintly. "I'm s-so, so, s-s-sorry. And tell M-Merlin I'm sorry." The tears were coming stronger now, and Percival came to the horrible realization that Gwaine was sobbing but for being too weak to actually do it right. He lifted Gwaine higher, pulling him closer against his chest, almost instinctively, like he'd try to calm a weeping child.
"God, Gwaine, I'm not going to leave you. You're the one trying to leave me," he said. And now he was crying, too. He was glad Merlin was gone, because it was Percival's awful duty (though he had little faith in himself to manage it) to be the strong one for both of his companions. But right now he needed help. He needed his Gwaine back. He needed direction. "What do you want from me?" he begged.
Percival had not expected an answer at all, so when Gwaine replied "Sing to me," he nearly burst into tears of joy and sadness at once, before a prickling in the back of his neck alerted him to how odd the request was. The whole conversation, he began to realize as goosebumps rose along his arms, was wrong, for all it had gone so well. And when Gwaine managed to speak again, panting heavily, Percival knew it was too easy: "And stop asking me questions," he said.
Percival gasped. Of course, the truth magic! "Oh, Gwaine!" he said, and held the other knight close, rocking him, starting to hum tunelessly because he was so, so, so desperately sorry and he couldn't ever do enough for Gwaine to make up for—
When Merlin returned to camp, he said nothing, only looked over at Percival and Gwaine and went immediately to the fire to make the tea.
"Merlin!" Percival cried urgently, and Merlin wheeled around in alarm. "Merlin, the venom—the—the magic, it, it's still in him!"
Merlin cocked his head, making sure he'd heard right, because was that not obvious? Hadn't he said that?
"No, I mean the magic. The truth spell, Merlin! You have to take it off him, he—if you ask him something, he can't not—" this was horrible to think about, and made Percival feel physically very ill, "answer."
Merlin brought willowbark tea with him as he went to Percival and Gwaine—two mugs, because there was no way Percival wouldn't benefit from it too—and crouched down, after he'd set the mugs within Percival's reach. Arms wrapped around his knees, he looked at Gwaine. "Can I... May I try to take the spell off, Gwaine?" Merlin asked, because he wasn't very well about to try anything he wasn't certain of on his best friend. Especially when Gwaine really didn't seem to want him nearby.
Gwaine shuddered—he didn't know why—as Merlin approached, but he nodded desperately at Merlin's question. "Make it stop," he begged, his voice thick. "Please, I'm s-sorry, I didn't mean to—for any of it," he added, distantly hoping that if nothing else Merlin would take pity on him. He hurt so much he'd actually quite forgotten what he was apologizing for, but he suspected it was one of those take-your-pick situations.
"Gwaine," Merlin said softly, his voice wavering dangerously. "Gwaine, none of this is your fault," he insistedy, completely ignoring that there were tears running down his face. He put a hand gently on his friend's neck and closed his eyes in concentration. His magic wasn't working. It didn't want to do anything at all, but he kept at it, trying to at least contain the poison so that some part of Gwaine's body wasn't overrun by pain, to take away the compulsion to tell the truth, but he wasn't sure it was working at all. Still, he tried until he was gasping for breath and had given himself a headache, and then took his hand away, unfolding so he could sit down instead of crouching. He blinked blearily at Percival, and then at Gwaine.
"I don't know if that helped," he admitted helplessly to both of them. "But the willowbark..." he added, nodding at the two cups of tea before drawing his knees back up to his chest.
Percival was still holding Gwaine, otherwise he would have steadied Merlin. "Thank you for trying Merlin," he said, reaching out a hand to pat the servant on the shoulder before reaching for the willow bark tea. "You should get something to eat." His attempts to get Gwaine to drink any were essentially futile, however, for Gwaine's moment of lucidity had passed, and as much as he got down he almost immediately coughed up—along with a black pitchy substance that Merlin said was the Nathair venom, though why it was in his lungs was worrying both of them.
After the last bout of coughing, Gwaine dropped back into Percival's arms, his body apparently exhausted, though his eyes were open. He wasn't even blinking, so Percival laid a hand over Gwaine's face and nudged his eyes shut. Gwaine gave a tiny shiver, but otherwise did not react.
Percival felt helpless, gripping Gwaine so tight he almost felt he might be crushing him, but he couldn't bring himself to let go or even loosen his grip for fear of losing his friend. His heart ached with wanting to help him, but just like Merlin, he was helpless to do anything to ease Gwaine's obvious pain. He wondered, briefly, if the singing he had requested really would help at all, and was reminded with a sickening pang that Gwaine had been compelled to tell the truth when he asked for Percival to sing to him.
Lullay, lullow, lullylullay,
Bewy, bewy, lully, bewy,
Lully, lullow, lully, lullay.
Baw, baw, my bairne,
Slepe softly now.
I saw a swete and semlysyght,
Ablisful bird,
A blossom bright,
That murning made and mirth among.
It was a song his mother used to sing to him as a child, so he knew the tune and words well. Percival didn't think he had an exceptionally good singing voice, but he was pretty sure that wasn't the reason Gwaine wanted to hear him sing anyway.
A Maiden moder mek and myld,
In cradle kep,
A knave child,
That softly slept, she sat and sange.
Lullay, lullow, lullylullay.
Bewy, bewy, Lully, bewy.
Lully, lullow, lully, lullay.
Baw, baw, my bairne,
Slepe softly now.
Merlin finished eating a bit of stew, though it pretty much tasted like nothing, and laid down, curling himself into his own bedroll and blanket on the opposite side of the fire. He was tired, in body and heart and everything else that could be tired. Trying to heal Gwaine didn't seem to have done much good, but the effort had cost him dearly. He was too tired to pretend that he didn't feel completely empty, drained of everything except perhaps a desperate sort of sadness. There was a giant yawning hole where yesterday—yesterday—had been his best friend and everything about him: the bickering, the absolutely endless orders (that Merlin had followed only occasionally), the hurled projectiles and the prat's mostly unsympathetic amusement at Merlin's incessant, though half-hearted complaints. Merlin closed his eyes, hoping to cut off this train of thought. It didn't work.
"There must be another Arthur, because this one's an idiot." He'd been ready to pack up and go home, except his mother would have sent him right back…
After Freya, when Arthur had decided there was something wrong, and the prince had grabbed him in a headlock and rasped his knuckles against the top of his head. When Merlin laughed and squirmed free, Arthur had looked at him, and grinned. "That's better."
"No man is worth your tears." Well, he'd certainly got that one astoundingly wrong.
"All those jokes about you being a coward… I never really meant any of them. I always thought you were the bravest man I ever met."
"Just hold me. Please." Merlin gave up all pretense of sleeping and hunched his shoulders under the blanket, burying his chin in his chest and just waiting for it to stop. Percival, across the fire, was singing to Gwaine, a sad-sounding lullaby that Merlin didn't know the words to and couldn't quite hear, but the sound seemed to chase away some of the weight that seemed to be pressing down on him, and he uncurled slightly to listen. Then the song trailed off and stopped, and Merlin exhaled softly.
Percival had been about to tell Merlin to lay down nearer to them, rather than all the way across the fire, but before he could speak, Merlin shifted: "Keep singing, please," he said, fully aware that he sounded like a five-year-old with nightmares, and not caring.
So Percival did sing, until both of his companions drifted off to sleep, and for some time after. When he had run out of lullabies he sang a few children's rhymes, and after that he resorted to pub songs. He stayed watch all night, and didn't let go of Gwaine.