Apologies for the long delay! Happy birthday to Effervescent Aardvark, for whom I managed to pull two birthday presents out of this story because I'm so slow. And also thank you to all readers and reviewers, and thanks for staying with me.
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Following the path back was much faster, and Merlin ran most of the distance. It took him an hour to find the cave once he made it back, and after a half hour of searching the place, he still couldn't find the cup. He was panicking, and even while he recognized that this wasn't going to help him find what he was looking for, he was too worn down to hold off the panic. He'd been too late, too late to stop Mordred, too late to stop Morgana, and too late to save Arthur. His life was becoming a long list of 'too lates.'
"Young warlock—" someone said behind him, and for a moment Merlin was sure that Kilgarrah had managed to reincarnate as something with a human voice. He whirled, seeking the familiar scaled nose and gold eyes, but saw, instead, a druid. He didn't recognize him, but the man held up a hand in a gesture that was apparently meant to be calming.
"The cup. You have to tell me where it is," Merlin practically sobbed, completely bypassing any sort of formality and going straight for hysterical. The man stepped forward.
"For what reason, Emrys?" the man asked guardedly. "We have all heard, we all know that King Arthur has died. The cup will not bring him back," he said.
"It's not for him!" Merlin shouted, and buried both hands in his hair, about ready to pull it out by the roots. "I wake up every day knowing he's dead, when I sleep at all! I had my chance to save him and I failed. I am not going to fail my friends I can save. I need the cup. They're in pain, and I can't heal them, and they're dying," he said, tripping and sitting on a rock. "Please. They need help," he begged the man. The druid watched him for what seemed to be an eternity.
"You are aware of the price?" the man asked, and Merlin nodded. "And you ask this solely for their benefit, with no other motive than to save your friends' lives?" he asked. Merlin stared at him, bewildered, wondering what the man was getting at. And then it occurred to him that the druid thought he was doing this because he didn't want to be alone the rest of his immortal life.
"If I must leave Camelot and live alone the rest of my days in exchange for the cup, I will do it," he said. The older druid watched him, again, for several minutes, and then shook his head, only once.
"I do not believe that will be necessary, Emrys. Take the cup, save your friends," the man said softly, grabbing Merlin's elbow and pulling him off his rock. Merlin swayed slightly as the druid pushed the cup—which he summoned as if from midair—into his hand. He started muttering a spell that Merlin might have recognized, but Merlin stopped him with a hand on his arm. There was one thing he needed to ask.
"The Cup… last time I used it, it—" he stopped awkwardly, thinking he really should have asked this earlier. Now he wasn't sure he could refrain from using it even if the answer was what he feared.
The old druid, seeming to understand where he was going, finished for him. "It required a life for a life to be given?" the man asked gravely, and Merlin nodded, looking down at the ground. "The balance of life in the world is a very complicated thing, Emrys, and there is no rule that may not sometimes be broken." Merlin looked up. The old man actually smiled at him. "I assure you, young warlock, that in this case, you needn't worry about taking the life of another to save your friends." Merlin just blinked, tightening his grip on the cup.
"Thank you, elder," he said. The old man put a hand on his arm before he could turn to leave and finished the spell he had begun moments earlier. There was a strange moment of disorientation before Merlin found himself just uphill of Gwaine and Percival, unsure if he had been sent there by the druid or if he just didn't remember traveling back. He let out a long breath and tried to regain what passed for composure, these days. But his hands were shaking, and his eyes stung, and he knew he looked like hell.
"Gwaine? Percy?" he called hesitantly as he bounded down the path with no grace whatsoever. He reached the horses and then scrambled down the hill to the knights.
Gwaine opened his eyes, blinked, but his vision was blurry. "M'lin?" he gasped. His fingers twitched, reaching out to him, who held a large gold cup. "Is—Perce? Percival first," he ground out. "M'okay."
Merlin breathed a sigh of relief that Gwaine was still semi-conscious and then went to Percival, who was still and silent and pale. "Percival? Wake up, you have to drink this," he said, grasping the knight's shoulder gently to wake him up.
Percival's head rolled to the side, but his eyes didn't so much as flicker.
When he couldn't wake Percival, Merlin decided he'd just see if he could convince him to drink without being awake. After all, Gaius managed to make people swallow potions without being awake fairly often, and it usually worked. He poured a few sips in Percival's mouth and massaged his throat as he'd seen Gaius do, and then sat back on his heels and hoped fervently that Percival would splutter awake, sit up, and be miraculously cured of all bodily harm—and not choke to death, or worse, that the Cup wouldn't work.
Gwaine forced himself up on an elbow, watching Percival as the precious water spilled from the side of his unresponsive mouth, mixing with the blood that had traced a pattern down his chin and neck.
"Percival, dammit!" Gwaine shouted, coughing heavily. "Perce! Wake up!"
"Percival, don't do this. Please," Merlin said, on the verge of panicking all over again because this wasn't working. He tried again, pouring the water into Percival's mouth and then holding his mouth shut. His eyes went briefly yellow, and a short, sharp gust of frigid air blew in Percival's face, a trick Merlin had seen Gaius use, albeit with his own breath. If it didn't surprise him into swallowing the water, Merlin hoped that perhaps the freezing cold air would wake him up.
Percival gasped weakly in surprise, his body jerking as he coughed, swallowing at least some of the water down.
"Ha!" Gwaine laughed triumphantly, though with some pain, and snatched the cup from Merlin's hands before he had time to think about it and regret it. He drank, and then threw the cup down, spilling the last of the water. "Well," he said, waiting. At first there was nothing, but slowly his insides began to feel less like thick soup, more like Gwaine. He coughed again, thickly, and spit up a hunk of black poison, but he felt immediately better, and smiled grimly up at the two of them. "That's that, I guess."
Percival blinked slowly, groaning as feeling came back, and that wasn't any fun at all.
"You all right, Percival?" Gwaine asked. "Merlin, how long is this supposed to take?" He still felt—well, gross, and ill, but he was feeling better.
"I don't know. Do you feel any better? Did it work?" Merlin asked, retrieving the cup and setting it gently nearby. It wouldn't do to lose it, not as powerful as it was.
"Did you?" Percival asked, suddenly more alert, despite the fairly horrific sensations of bones knitting together. "Please, Gwaine. Did you drink?"
"Yes, yes, can we stop talking about this now, please?" Gwaine groaned, standing shakily. "Damn it, I'm hungry. Tell me you guys brought some food along. And some water that doesn't come out of a golden magic cup?" He grinned at Merlin and Percival.
Percival sagged back again with a groan, part pain, part relief.
"Okay, stop, or we're going to have to make out or something," Gwaine teased, clapping Percival on the back and pulling Merlin into a one-armed hug.
"You're both okay, then? You're actually okay?" Merlin asked, fearing he was sounding like a complete idiot—but it had been a trying two weeks, so he hardly thought anyone could blame him for not entirely believing that something good had happened.
Percival winced as he moved to sit up and then thought better of it. Still, the pain was better than the empty numbness. "I'm not sure I'd go so far as okay—but better. Did Leon say anything about how long he took to heal?"
"No, but the druids were using the cup, not me. They might have done something," Merlin said. "I can make some willowbark tea. We have some supplies," he said, standing and ready to scramble back up the hill.
"Merlin." Percival held out a hand, catching hold of him. "Thank you."
Merlin paused and glanced between Percival and Gwaine. He smiled tiredly. "Thank you," he said, for not being dead, he didn't add. "I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere," he added, as if either of the knights were up to disappearing somewhere.
Gwaine glanced between Percival and Merlin, with a stupid grin on his face. And since acting the arsehole was apparently his job, especially recently, "You're welcome!" he shouted after Merlin, and, "You're welcome, too," he said to Percival, nudging him with his foot (but then he felt wobbly and weak and he sat back down), "It must be hard, being so grateful for my presence all the time. Especially after a scare like that—I could have died!" he joked—callously, perhaps, but joking meant he had power over it, even if he had been genuinely scared.
Percival smiled weakly because it honestly wasn't that funny, but then again, he felt a weight lift off his chest as Gwaine was being, well Gwaine again and he hadn't thought he'd ever see that again. "Sorry I dropped you," he apologized eventually, because really, his only contribution had been to fall off his horse after all.
Gwaine crouched in front of Percival, staring at him intently. Then he slapped him on the cheek—hard enough to be offensive but not hard enough to hurt—and then wrapped his head in a crushing hug against his chest. "Sorry I almost dropped you," he said, but he was talking about something different. He didn't want to say thank you. A thank you would be cheap, and wholly inadequate.
"Owww." Percival frowned, his confused protest somewhat muffled since his head was mostly buried in Gwaine.
"Stop it, Perce, stop it," Gwaine hissed, still gripping Percival as though his life depended on it. "I'm trying to be serious about one damned thing and it's—" Gwaine trailed off, let Percival go. He didn't do feelings. "I owe you everything. I might hate you or I might love you forever—" and forever had a different meaning now, and maybe so did love "—stop thinking you're the least of us when you're the greatest."
"I don't..." Percival was sore and also bewildered, and. "I fell off my damned horse, like some sort of idiot. I was supposed to be protecting you and I couldn't even get that right."
"Your horse fell, not you!" Gwaine shouted, and shook Percival. He was suddenly angry. Angry that he had missed this all this time, angry that Percival didn't know, angry that he hadn't told Percival. Gwaine coughed again, clearing his lungs of the black stuff, but it helped this time, and he took a large breath: "Look around you! You're alive! I'm alive! Merlin's alive and not going to have to spend the rest of his life alone! Name one way that you messed up!"
Percival hissed a pained breath as his half knitted bones grated. One thing? He could name so many: "I should have got to you faster when Morgana—I should have stopped you going in the first place—" He broke off as he swallowed down tears.
"What do you expect that would have done, huh? Would I be here now if you had?" he let that sink in, for a moment, hoping that Percival (for all he was, apparently, an idiot) (or, more likely, blind to his own abilities) realized he couldn't see the future and the question was rhetorical, or impossible to answer. "Oh, wait, I am here. Funny how the 'things you couldn't get right' ended up so horribly awfully bad. And what about next time? Who appointed you my fucking keeper, anyway? What if I was worried about you? Does that not matter?" He poked Percival in the chest. "Did you ever think about that? That people care about you?"
Percival was too sore and tired to fight, "I'm sorry," he mumbled, not entirely sure what he was apologizing for. "I'm glad you drank. I really am." He grew quiet as what Gwaine had done for him truly sank in. "Thank you."
"Stop it," Gwaine told him. "You're the one we should all be thanking. You're the hero, Percival! Why do you—" he spluttered for a moment, "Stop! Just stop. You're being an idiot."
Bags tossed over his shoulder, Merlin started making his way back down the hill, picking his way carefully over the rocks rather than the neck-or-nothing fashion he'd come down the rock slide earlier. He didn't need to be in a rush: Gwaine and Percival were alright. Except he kept forgetting, and too used to rushing around in a state of emergency as of late, he'd speed up, trip, and have to slow himself down again.
He'd just barely saved himself from faceplanting down the hill when he heard raised voices. He couldn't make out the words, but he tripped and tumbled and slid the rest of the way down the hill and stopped when he saw Gwaine yelling at Percival. Neither of them needed this, and Merlin wished he had something soft he could throw at Gwaine's head.
"Gwaine! What are you doing? Sit down, and stop shouting! You two were mostly dead less than an hour ago! What are you thinking?" he added, raising his voice enough to cover any protest either knight might think of voicing.
Gwaine looked to Merlin like people looked at Gaius when there were injured or sick children needing to be cared for. He raised his hands in surrender, fell silent, and stepped back, as if to say, either, 'this guy is an idiot and I can't get through to him' or 'please, by all means, step in, because I am feeling useless,' or both.
"Thank you," Merlin said crisply when Gwaine shut his mouth and backed off, and then he looked between Gwaine and Percival. Percival didn't look up to explaining, so Merlin turned to Gwaine instead. He looked angry, but there was sadness in there somewhere too, in the way he stepped back and gave up instead of just starting in on Merlin for shouting at him. Merlin sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair before he spoke again. "Gwaine, can you explain to me why you were yelling, please?" And then he handed him one of the bags to go through for food, digging through the other pack until he found the dry willowbark while he waited for an answer.
Gwaine snatched at the bag, but he wasn't hungry. "I don't know, ask Percival," he said, with the petulance of a child and the helpless rage of someone whose friend was in pain he couldn't help. "Ask him why he thinks he failed even though—" he sucked in a breath as he realized those had been his last words. Almost his last words. Gwaine set down the bag of food and turned away.
"I'm sorry," Percival said plaintively, trying to sit up and not quite making it. "I didn't mean to upset you. I'm happy. You're here. You're both here. I thought I was going to lose you both." He shuddered again at the thought.
"He doesn't care that he's here and that I might have cared if he wasn't," Gwaine blurted out, crossing his arms.
"Oh," Merlin said, understanding what had set Gwaine off. He turned to Percival. "Percival, you aren't actually listening," he said earnestly, and stopped attempting to make tea. "You have this unrealistic expectation of your duty in this world, that you have to save everyone or you've somehow failed this cosmic duty, and that you're not worth anything unless you do everything. But there are things…" Merlin paused and then exhaled sharply, because he needed to hear these things as much as Percival did. "There are things you can't do that don't make you any less of a knight or a human being." Like, maybe, preventing the death of a friend. "Some things just happen, and whether you prevent them or not—like Gwaine getting bitten by those snakes—the really important part is that you do what you can to save the situation. Like nagging me to keep checking books and trying to do magic, or refusing to let Gwaine die at all. Nothing bad that's happened has been your fault. All you've done is gone picking up the pieces and trying to put them back together so they'll work, and if you keep apologizing for that, I'm probably going to let Gwaine yell at you some more," Merlin said, trying to joke there at the end. "But… sometimes you can't save everyone. And it doesn't mean you've failed. It just means bad things happen," he finished, avoiding looking at anyone in particular for fear of seeing the irony in his voicing of that sentiment written in their expressions. He went back to fiddling with the willow bark tea in the silence immediately after.
Percival was crying now, and he tried to hide his face, but it felt like something inside him snapped. All the tension and grief and fear of the past days was draining away. It was going to be okay. It wasn't okay yet, because Arthur—but it would be okay eventually because he wasn't alone and maybe he wasn't totally useless.
"You didn't fail, Percival," Gwaine said, choking back tears. He jabbed an accusing finger at Merlin. "And neither did you. Stop saying it. It—" It hurt him, physically, only he wasn't going to say that. "It makes me fucking angry because it's not true." His nostrils flared, and he gave up on not crying. "And I didn't fail," he declared. There, all right, he admitted it. He didn't necessarily believe it, but apparently he didn't care as much about whether he'd failed as these two did (he was used to failing, that was as much a part of his life as existing), and anyway he wanted to start a trend. He huffed, smiled bitterly: "Or maybe we all failed. But any failure you can walk away from, right?" He looked at Percival and Merlin in turn. "While there's life, there's hope." And now he smiled, genuinely, or possibly evilly: "And now we're immortal."