AN: Now it looks like I may have forgotten about this fic...and okay, I kind of forgot about it, what with end of semester and teaching over the summer and also laziness. Anyway I'm back now, and this story is mainly done, so you have my permission to poke me if I don't post updates weekly as I ought. Thanks to all those who favorited, reviewed, etc while this story was on haitus. Thanks also to my co-authors Caitydid and Effervescent Aardvark for helping with Merlin and Percival, respectively.
...
What little Gwaine knew was movement, cold and pain. He did not bother, or perhaps dare, to open his eyes, but he felt the warmth and recognized the smell of Percival. The world moved in time to Percival's horse's steady plodding. He felt safe, comfortable—well, not comfortable, but comforted—but everything hurt. Everything. His muscles hurt, his bones hurt, his blood hurt. He felt thick and slow and ill, like he was made up of pain and poison and darkness instead of blood and bones and life.
Percival, on the other hand, felt better once they were on the road. Not good, not even okay, but better, because at least the desperation now had a hope to cling to, at least they could do something now, and they were doing it instead of just standing about wringing their hands. They traveled in silence, and traveled quickly. Percival let Merlin lead the way and let his horse follow Merlin's in order to give all his attention to Gwaine. He hadn't been quick enough to save him before, but there was no stopping him now. He had seen Lancelot die, he had seen Elyan die, but he was not going to see Gwaine die.
It had been raining all day, and as the sun set it grew dark quickly. "We should stop here," Merlin said. "Can't go much farther in the dark, and if we leave at first light we should be there by midday."
Percival got the shelter up and placed Gwaine inside it while Merlin took care of the horses. He then set about trying to start a fire with their wet wood but could only manage it with the help of Merlin's magic.
Gwaine did not eat, but slept on—so obviously consumed by pain when he wasn't practically catatonic—and so Percival and Merlin did not much feel like eating either.
The shelter was a small, miserable and oppressive place. Percival tried to smile encouragingly at Merlin in thanks for the soup he handed him, but it wasn't helping much. "I'll just be a moment." He told Merlin, after he ran a hand through Gwaine's hair and checked him again. Crawling out of the shelter he stood with a pained grunt, his tired, stiff muscles protesting as he stretched them out, trying to stop them from seizing up too much. This done, he headed a little way to the nearest large tree to see to some pressing business.
The soup was next-to-tasteless, and Merlin only managed to eat half of his bowl before he gave up and set it aside. When Percival left, it gave him room to move around within the small shelter, and he set about making more willowbark tea before settling back down next to Gwaine to see if the knight's condition had changed at all. He was unsurprised to find that his friend still wouldn't wake, and still seemed to be in a significant amount of pain.
Since he'd been able to light the firewood earlier, Merlin thought he could give healing Gwaine—or at least making him more comfortable—another go. But when he closed his eyes and rested his hand gently on Gwaine's forehead, he found that trying to do anything about the poison was like trying to beat off a gryphon with a toothpick. He tried anyway, willing his magic to cooperate and let him help Gwaine. He wasn't sure he did anything more than give himself another headache. With a sigh, he shuffled back to the fire and poured a mug of willowbark tea, then retreated back to where he'd been sitting before Percival had left.
The problem started as a dull weight that Gwaine could hardly separate from the rest of the pain. Then the weight grew to an ache, to a solid blockage, to a wheeze—and only now Gwaine realized the source of the pain was in his lungs—and then the weight grew and grew, a trough resting on his chest and slowly filling up with water. Gwaine might have given up then, let it keep filling up until it killed him and be done with it, done with everything, but then—
Percival was gone. Gwaine hadn't even really properly registered that Percival was there, so it came as a shock when suddenly he knew he was alone. Merlin was gone, too. And being alone startled—no, frightened—him enough to draw in a tiny gasp, or to try to, and when he couldn't, it was like waking out of a dream into a nightmare and he needed out, he needed up, he needed help. There was a sudden spike of pain as if someone had literally thrust a spike between his ribs, and he was using the last of his breath to cry out, and using the last of his strength to roll over and open unseeing eyes and help, help, I need help. I can't breathe.
Merlin looked up from his blank consideration of the tea in his mug when he heard Gwaine move and make a very small, strangled noise. At first he thought he was only moving in his sleep, but then he was flailing about and his eyes were open without appearing to actually look at anything, and Merlin realized the sound of Gwaine's harsh breathing had stopped. Merlin shouted at Percival to get his attention even as he scrambled over to Gwaine and pushed him to a sitting position. "Breathe, Gwaine, come on, don't do this," he said, bordering on panic, and thumped the knight on the back, though he hesitated to do it very hard for fear of making the problem worse.
Hearing Merlin's shouts ran back and slid through the entrance to the shelter, eyes wide in panic. "What's wrong? What's happening?"
Gwaine was snatching at the edge of the blanket, at handfuls of grass, at Merlin's sleeve, trying to hold himself up. He wanted to be upside down, to let the poison rush out. He was drowning in sludge. Ugh, and it tasted—oh, good, it was beginning to come up—the whatever his chest was trying to do was working—it tasted like blood and, like blackness, like how the color black and the smell of burning pitch might taste. He got a tiny breath in his lungs in between the rush of hot blood and molten poison that was melting his insides, and cried out, his limbs flailing as he struggled to breathe. He couldn't go out like this, he wouldn't die like this.
Merlin gave up trying to knock the air back into Gwaine's lungs and settled for pinning the knight's arms to his sides, hugging Gwaine to his chest in an attempt to prevent him from flailing. He'd only make it worse, using up his breath by panicking. Under ordinary circumstances, Merlin would never have been able to hold Gwaine's arms to his sides, and it still wasn't easy, but if he could even stop a little bit of the flailing...
"Please calm down, Gwaine, you're making it worse," he said, forcing the panic out of his voice as he spoke, and then he looked at Percival, clearly pleading for help. Percival was good at getting through to Gwaine, maybe he could get him to calm down.
Near panic himself, wishing he knew what to do, Percival sat down next to them, and reached out for Gwaine, catching one of his hands and enveloping it in his, and holding the back of Gwaine's neck with the other, "Easy Gwaine, we've got you. It's gonna be okay..." He tried to keep his voice low, his tone reassuring.
Gwaine grunted and choked, pushing against the voices. There was nothing easy about this, and nothing calming down would help. But Merlin and Percival were here now, maybe they could help. And at first it seemed that they were right, for slowing down his panicked breaths did help him sneak yet another small but slower gasp of breath in. "Need—" he said, and coughed up a chunk of what might have been a piece of his lung or just coagulated blood, "it's in—" but there just wasn't enough air to explain. Gwaine felt on the verge of tears, on the verge of another full blown wave of panic.
When Gwaine coughed, and subsequently tried to tell them what was wrong, Merlin realized this was exactly what he needed to do, and looked at Percival, scrambling out of the bigger knight's way. "Hit his back hard enough to make him cough up whatever's in his lungs," he said, taking Gwaine's hand as Percival had done, for whatever comfort that might offer his friend.
Percival tilted Gwaine forward over the arm he wrapped around his front. Hoping his wasn't doing more damage, he thumped Gwaine, once, twice, three times in the center of his back, muttering a mix of apologies and soothing nonsense into Gwaine's ear as he did so.
"Ack!" Gwaine cried when he could, his fingers scrabbling at the arm that was holding him and the hand that was gripping him, instinctively trying to tilt his head so that his throat was open. He hacked and coughed, and it was coming out his nose now, but finally there was enough breath in him, and lifting himself up, leveraging against Percival's chest, he gave a mighty heave and a huge solid chunk of something disgusting and a wave of blood and blackness followed. He coughed a few more times, collapsing boneless against Percival, and began to draw in tentative but needy gulps of air. He was shaking. "Guh," he moaned, too spent to find words.
But as his mind cleared he became aware of voices speaking to him, and hands on him, rubbing his back, his arms, and they didn't hurt, or, didn't hurt more than they were a comfort. Coughing pathetically, "Okay, let's not do that again," he said. After a few more breaths: "Thanks," he managed.
Percival rubbed Gwaine's back soothingly. "You just need to hang on. It's going to be okay...we're going to fix this."
Gwaine coughed again. "Okay," he said unenthusiastically. Then, "I just don't want to go out like that. That…was gross." He looked at the pool of black blood beneath him, the sight and smell of it making him want to hurl—again—so he closed his eyes and turned his face away, trying to bury it against Percival's shoulder and smearing blood across him. "Can I have some water, please?"
Merlin jumped up and retrieved one of the waterskins, which he brought back and handed to Percival, because Gwaine didn't look up to holding it himself. Then he crouched next to them, looking carefully at Gwaine.
"I brought tea, too, if you think you can drink it," he said, "And there's soup." And, with a raggedy shirt he'd also brought over, reached over and gently cleaned the blood off of Gwaine's face. "You won't die, Gwaine. We... we might have an idea."
Percival rocked Gwaine gently, holding him close as Merlin cleaned him and then carefully brought the waterskin to Gwaine's mouth.
Gwaine drank greedily until the cold water hit his stomach and made it churn, and then turned his face away. Maybe something warm. "Maybe tea?" he asked. He coughed gently, shaking up what was left of the gunk in his lungs. "What's the plan?"
"Merlin makes the best tea." Percival smiled, he was shaking in reaction at what had happened almost as much as Gwaine was, but he was awake, he was talking... "There's this cup," he explained: "it can heal you. The druids, they used it on Leon a while back and it saved him."
"It's called the Cup of Life. We know where it is, and how to use it. If you drink from it, it will heal you," Merlin said, and then hesitated, catching Percival's glance.
"And... well, we thought we'd go get it. Just... just in case?" Percival said, completely failing to explain himself clearly.
Merlin held the cup of tea for Gwaine to drink it as Percival explained their plan. When Percival fell silent, Merlin picked up where he'd left off. "I found it with a spell, so we know where it is. We're taking you to it," he added, in case Gwaine had thought far enough to wonder what he was doing in the middle of the forest instead of back at Camelot.
Gwaine considered this. "Wait. The one Cenred and Morgause had?" He started weakly. "That won't turn me into one of those unkillable mind-controlled zombies?"
"No, no! that won't happen! Right, Merlin?" Percival looked over at Merlin for support. "Leon drank from it."
"Oh, that's all right, then," Gwaine said. Leon was definitely not an unkillable mind-controlled zombie.
"No. Well... no. Not a zombie," Merlin said, "But... people who drink from the cup become immortal. Leon is—probably, we don't know, but we guess—immortal. But he isn't a zombie," he said, and then stopped talking, looking anxiously between Gwaine and Percival.
"You'll live." Percival added, "You'll be okay again."
Gwaine bridled. "Wait, like, I'll never die kind of immortal?" There was a time in Gwaine's life where that might have appealed to him. When he was younger (he felt ancient now, old and weary) but now he understood loss, understood pain, understood that living forever would hurt more than anything. "Immortal isn't okay," he said, frowning deeply, as if this was common knowledge he suspected his companions were somehow unaware of.
"But we don't know any other way to save you, Gwaine," Merlin said a little desperately. Then he realized this was not likely to convince Gwaine of anything, so added, "And you wouldn't be alone, Leon could keep you company." He swallowed, because what he was about to say would mean staying in Camelot forever, no matter how badly he wanted to leave. Then again, if he had even one friend to stay in Camelot for, it wouldn't be so bad. "And me. I'll be there, too," he admitted softly, looking down at his hands.
Gwaine pushed against Percival to sit up a little. "No! Are you crazy? No one wants to live forever!" he cried. Maybe he was still angry with Merlin a little bit. But when Merlin's face fell, Gwaine realized the real torture was just beginning.
"But Gwaine, you're going to die..." Percival's grip tightened around him, "You can worry about forever later, but right now, there isn't going to be a later."
"Percival," Gwaine turned around, forcing Percival to release him and sitting up under mainly his own power. "That's powerful magic, anyway. Isn't there supposed to be some rule about magic taking a life where it saves one? You want to put that on my conscience?" The conscience he didn't have, admittedly, else this would be a lot easier.
Merlin cut in: "Now, wait, we don't know the cup will do that."
"But it might." Gwaine huffed. "You want to risk that? For something I don't—" He turned back to Percival with a sigh: "I'm tired, Perce," he whispered quietly. "No one wants to be here til Judgment Day." He glanced guiltily at Merlin.
"But Gwaine..." Percival breathed. "Leon, and Merlin..." He looked away, wanting to plead and beg.
"You won't be there," Gwaine pointed out, snapping at Percival as his hackles rose.
"I'll be there tomorrow, next week, next year!" Percival tried a final time.
Gwaine shook his head. He was beginning to feel very ill again. He collapsed backward and drew himself away until he was up against the tree they were sheltered under, and he hugged his knees. "I'm sorry," he said, and he was sorry, only it came out dismissive, more 'leave me alone,' ignoring that Percival sounded on the verge of tears or a mental breakdown. Maybe if he made all his friends hate him they wouldn't miss him.
Percival waved his arms in front of him as if trying to fend off Gwaine's words. Stumbling to his feet he looked at Merlin. "I can't...I've got to...Merlin. Can you look after him? I need to—I can't do this..." And shaking his head he stumbled blindly out of the shelter and into the darkness outside.
Merlin sat wordlessly as Gwaine and Percival argued, listening but trying not to listen, and trying to avoid thinking about anything Gwaine was saying about immortality. He didn't quite reach up to cover his ears, but he did sit very still, and stared at his hands, and didn't look up until he heard his name and Percival stormed off. He blinked in surprise at the sudden quiet and looked at Gwaine. Then, still without speaking, he moved to sit next to Gwaine against the tree, needing desperately just to be there. He would have gone after Percival, but he wasn't sure he wanted to risk the knight's temper if he followed and left Gwaine alone. So he slouched against the tree, knees drawn up to his chest, and stared at the ground about ten feet away.
Gwaine made absolutely sure not to cry, as if his very life depended on it, though he felt a stinging behind his eyes and a thickness in his throat. "I'm sorry," he whispered after a moment, but he still couldn't bear to look at Merlin. "I'm sorry you didn't get a choice. Please—" but he stopped before he said the next bit, because of course Merlin would respect his choice, he didn't need to ask, so, "please look after Percy for me," he said. And then a tear did fall, but it was on the opposite side of his face so maybe Merlin didn't see. "And look after yourself, mate."
"I will," Merlin said, his voice even softer than Gwaine's, because he didn't trust it to be any louder without either shaking or breaking. Unobtrusively, he turned his head away from Gwaine and brushed several tears from his face with his shoulder, rather than raising a hand and alerting Gwaine to the fact that he wasn't at all holding it together.
Outside, Percival hugged his arms about himself as he walked around the camp, not able to make himself travel outside of hearing range, but not able to stay, not able to take Gwaine's surrender. Gwaine always fought, always. But Percival hadn't been fast enough and Gwaine was dying, and Percival was going to have to watch another friend stop breathing, stop living. Another person he was going to have to bury. Wanting to scream and shout at the world, not wanting to scare the others he curled himself up under a tree and shook and shook.