Summary
Around a campfire's glow, Gwaine confesses to Fredrick torment over having to follow orders to arrest Lord Badawi and the difficulty this mission has caused him.
Chapter 36 The Anguish of Duty
The night enveloped their small camp, the darkness only broken by the flickering campfire. Gwaine's features were thrown into sharp relief by the dancing flames as he meticulously dragged his whetstone along the blade of his sword, the rhythmic scraping sound filling the air. Across from him, Fredrick tended to the fire, adding a few more sticks and poking at the embers, his brow creased as he stole glances at his brooding companion. They'd made good distance on the trail, reaching the edges of Brechfa in two days – two long days of little conversation save studying maps and planning paths to take.
The rasp of steel against stone grated on Fredrick's ears, the abrasive sound piercing the stillness that had settled over their camp. He tossed another twig into the flames and settled back against the log, shooting a sidelong glance at Gwaine. The knight's brows were knitted in concentration as he methodically glided the stone along the blade's edge, his lips pressed in a tight downward frown. Not long ago, that incessant scuff would have been accompanied by Gwaine's boisterous voice regaling him again about his lamentations over missing the chance to battle the dragon. But now, uncharacteristic silence had stolen Gwaine's voice and doused his spirit, and Fredrick sensed his thoughts dwelt elsewhere – somewhere back in Camelot.
The rhythm of sword against stone seemed to reverberate through Fredrick's very bones, each scrape setting his teeth on edge as it sliced through the quiet night air. He fought the urge to ask Gwaine to cease, but knew the repetitive motion likely brought the knight a measure of focus and calm for whatever disturbed him.
Beyond the ring of firelight, the night pressed in thick and impenetrable, its smothering blackness broken only by the nearby hoots of unseen owls drifting among the rustling leaves – and the intermittent grind of Gwaine's whetstone dragging along his blade. That familiar, scratching sound was becoming little more than a droning hum to Fredrick as his thoughts soon turned inward, a crease furrowing his brow as worry for Gwen gnawed like a relentless ache.
Her recent emergence from that dark spell of melancholy and erratic temper still troubled him deeply. After returning to Camelot, he had been loath to leave her side, so then witnessing much, her sudden shift gave clear signs that some unseen magical force had sunk its claws into her. Though it seemed to revive her spirit rather than harm her, it alarmed him all the same. Surely Arthur must have noticed too, but there were some private conversations between man and wife that even he was not privy to. He could only hope it had been addressed, that they had found a way to banish the ominous cloud that had loomed over her.
A downhearted sigh escaped Fredrick's lips as his gaze drifted to the glowing embers. King Arthur had been transformed as well. Perhaps the many years he and Gwen had been forced to conceal their love were the catalyst for the change he had witnessed in the king. Undoubtedly, enduring such an extended period of keeping their romance strictly hidden had a profound effect in shaping Arthur. The king had shed the entitled arrogance of the brash aristocrat Fredrick once knew, molded instead by his wife's grounding presence and wisdom.
And the king's fleeting jealousy over Fredrick's bond with Gwen seemed a mere insecurity of the past, dissipating once he realized their connection ran soul-deep, yet utterly paternal. Still, this eleven-day mission would be the longest Fredrick had been separated from his queen's side, and the distance left him feeling strangely unmoored, as if a part of his very self had been carved away, leaving him grasping at shadows.
His life's entire course had been upended by Gwen too. Where once he was a solitary sentry keeping an aloof vigil, now he was an integral part of reshaping the kingdom itself, privy to the crown's most guarded secrets. Never could he have imagined his voice would carry any significance in the machinations of kings and queens. And yet here he was – knight, advisor, co-conspirator in a strategy of world-shaking implications.
Fredrick swallowed hard as he drew his arms tighter around himself, the flickering flames doing little to ward off the chill that suddenly spiraled through his body. The crux of Arthur's ambitious plan hinged precariously on Merlin. The deception surrounding the sorcerer, the lie they would have perpetuated could still unleash dire consequences upon king and kingdom if ever revealed. Fredrick couldn't shake the troubling doubt that they'd truly weighed the full price of such subterfuge.
And yet Merlin stood as the keystone of Arthur's determined campaign – this lanky, unobtrusive figure who had swept into Camelot's hallowed halls all those years prior, subtly shifting the hotheaded prince onto a course greatly divergent from Uther's devastating path. In those days, Fredrick paid scant heed to the unassuming shadow often trailing in Arthur's wake. Now, after bearing witness to the truth of Merlin's incredible powers, Fredrick could not help but regard the sorcerer with a newfound sense of awe and respect.
He gave an absent nod, as if in deference to the trinity of fates that had conspired to reshape Camelot's destiny. The forces that molded the noble king before him were twofold – for just as Merlin's guiding presence nudged Arthur toward an enlightened course, so too did Gwen's wisdom and boundless heart leave an indelible mark. Her steadfast love had smoothed his remaining edges of arrogance and entitlement into compassion. And with Merlin's astonishing abilities laid bare alongside the pivotal role he had long played in safeguarding them all, it was little wonder Arthur now aimed to shield him – and any like him – by whatever means required. United, this triad of differing strengths was surely bound for greatness unparalleled.
The rhythmic grind of steel against stone had fallen silent, and Fredrick realized Gwaine had stilled his restless sharpening. The knight now leaned against the hilt of his sword, its tip buried in the ground before him, one hand loosely gripping the whetstone as he stared unseeingly into the flames. A deep furrow etched his brow, caught somewhere between intense concentration and utter resignation.
The hush that blanketed their camp seemed to amplify the crackle of the fire until Gwaine's low rumble finally sliced through. "Do you think we did the right thing?" Fredrick's gaze landed on his friend, doubt rendered plain in the downturned corners of his mouth. "Arresting Lord Badawi?"
Fredrick tensed imperceptibly, the fine hairs prickling along the back of his neck – an instinctive warning that questioning a king's decree was perilous ground to tread. But Arthur was more than a sovereign to them; he was brother-in-arms who valued counsel, even dissenting views. Though Gwaine had yet to reveal his objections to this mission or the precise details of what had transpired between him and Arthur before their departure, his furious bearing and hurried, agitated gait through the castle halls told Fredrick all he'd needed to know – Gwaine had failed to be relieved of his service.
"As soldiers, we've all carried out unsavory orders in the name of the crown before," he replied carefully. "Do you doubt the righteousness of Arthur's choice?"
A defiant spark flared in Gwaine's eyes, and with a sharp motion, he drove the tip of his sword into the ground beside him. His calloused fingers curled around the whetstone, seeming to weigh the heft of it briefly. "No, I don't doubt him," he admitted lowly. "Only myself."
Fredrick then listened as scattered failures spilled forth from Gwaine – meeting a woman who stole his heart, bitter commands to arrest her father – bar him from her side. Earnest vows to watch over her now laid in ruins, impossible to uphold while wandering afield on this undesirable mission.
"With every fiber of my being, I wish I could undo the hurt I saw in Yaminah's eyes," Gwaine rasped with regret. "She deserved solace in that moment, and I failed to provide it. Instead, all I left her with was a paltry, wretched scratch of a letter, begging her forgiveness." He shook his head, anguish shadowing his expression. "I failed her, Fred. And now my soul twists knowing no mercy awaits after what I've done."
Fredrick nodded, understanding Gwaine's tender heart hid under his roguish exterior. While duty alone governed his path, Gwaine was ruled by empathy for the vulnerable. Fredrick admired his fortitude for that, but to him, it seemed unwise seeds of affection had left him yearning to protect where he lacked right. Affections for the daughter of a traitor was indeed poor judgement, and Fredrick wondered why the level-headed man had become so ensnared in such an ill-advised situation.
"I've done plenty of distasteful things – yeah," Gwaine continued, his tone low and rough like pebbles crunching underfoot. "But this... this cleaves straight to the bloody depths." A bitter, mirthless laugh escaped his lips as he ran a hand across his face. "All my bluster about honor and loyalty – and when it matters most, when she needs me..."
He trailed off, shaking his head slowly as if in disbelief at his own failure. Fredrick felt a pang of empathy, for he understood the sacred oaths knighthood bound them to – oaths he himself held inviolable. To be rendered unable to live up to those tenets of honor, of safeguarding the innocent, it cut straight to the core of what made a true knight.
"This separation from Gwen's side leaves me strangely adrift as well," Fredrick replied, understanding the profound ache of being parted from one's heart. "But are your doubts borne of the lady alone? Or do you question Arthur's greater path?"
Gwaine watched him for a moment, his brow knitted, firelight glistening in his pensive eyes. A wry smirk then played across his lips as he reflected, "Until crossing paths with Arthur a few years ago, it had been an age since I willingly followed any king's lead." He gave a derisive snort. "Oh he seemed brave enough – an abled fighter, I'll grant him that. He was even amiable. But I wasn't about to simply bow down to the lad just because of his lineage."
He shook his head, a rueful chuckle escaping. "Turned out the royal pup had more mettle than I gave him credit for at first. He proved me wrong on that score. Arthur's a good man, through and through."
Gwaine nodded thoughtfully, his head bobbing slowly, as if seeming to confirm his convictions. "And then there's Merlin," he continued. "I knew there was something special about him the day we met. That he's this powerful wizard – well, I have yet to witness anything to strike awe, but he deserves to be protected. If Arthur believes a deception is the best solution and is willing to face the consequences, then it's worth the risk for me too."
"So it's because of the lady – that unsettles you…"
Gwaine's expression darkened like a thundercloud rolling across the sun. "Two days ago… I nearly came to blows with him – Arthur, my friend and sovereign." His calloused knuckles whitened as fists clenched, corded tendons straining taut beneath his skin. "The vile words he spoke about Yaminah..." A muscle jumped in his taut jaw as he ground his teeth. "They cut me bloody deep, straight to the bone. I saw red, is what happened. Pure rage blinding me in that moment."
Fredrick could vividly envision the explosive scene – knight pitted against king, brother against brother, as wrath overcame reason in the blink of an eye. The air likely still thrummed with the echoes of furious shouts and bitter recriminations. "How did Arthur respond?" he asked cautiously, the ghost of Arthur's merciless blow near a month ago seeming to sting his cheek anew.
Gwaine let out a long, troubled sigh. When his gaze met Fredrick's across the campfire, the haunted look in his friend's eyes gave him pause. "Arthur was as riled as I was," Gwaine admitted, a rueful grimace twisting his lips. "Maybe I could've reasoned with him if I hadn't been so bloody..." He trailed off, shaking his head.
For long moments, only the fire's crackle pierced the stillness separating them. Until at last, Gwaine spoke again, his words cracking with emotion. "I care for her," he lamented, his voice splintering like a breaking branch. "Beyond mere fancy, this yearning proves true and unshakable…" His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. "My heart binds itself to her, Fred... now it… shatters…" Fredrick held his pitying stare, sorrow carved into every line of his features. "What I did… I watched the light leave her eyes by my own cursed hand."
The raw admission seemed to suck the very air from their small camp before Gwaine drew a shuddering breath, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Vows I can't keep. A woman I can't love. Distance and time my enemy. I've made a right mess of things, haven't I?"
The warm embrace of the fire seemed to leach away at Gwaine's tormented countenance. Clearly he weathered one of life's lowest ebbs, questioning his self-worth, flaying himself for perceived failings and regrets. "You acted on orders outside your control – honor knows no shame in that, Gwaine," Fredrick replied, his tone resonant with empathy. "Though the lady's trust lies battered by your duty-bound actions, take heart that she may yet understand the burdens true knights must bear. You must hold faith that redemption awaits."
His bitter scoff sliced through the still forest night before Gwaine responded. "Faith…" He gave a derisive snort, shaking his head. "Wouldn't know where to even begin finding such a thing these days." His gaze drifted back to the dying embers, their faint orange glow reflecting in the unshed tears pooling in his eyes.
Tightness gripped Fredrick's throat at the naked sorrow writ across the knight's visage. Grimacing despite himself, his heart broke anew witnessing the man's profound agony. He searched for some consoling phrase, but what salve could soothe such a grievous wound? After a moment's hesitation, he tried again, each word laced with compassion. "If she cares for you as much as you do for her–"
Gwaine's head whipped up, eyes blazing as they bored into Fredrick, jaw clenched rigidly. The very mention of the lady's affections had struck a devastating blow. "Don't," he bit out, a pained tremor distorting his voice, as if the words had lashed him. "I know in my heart she's lost to me."
More bittersweet memories seemed to churn behind Gwaine's distant, haunted gaze as he stared hollowly at the fading embers once again. The snap and hiss of the smoldering logs filled the stillness, and Fredrick realized nothing could be offered to comfort his splintering honor and broken heart – Gwaine must wrestle these private ghosts alone. Still, part of him could not help but wonder if this fracturing now, as agonizing as it clearly was, may ultimately have been for the best. For what path could truly await a knight and the daughter of a condemned traitor? Their doomed affections had left Gwaine perilously compromised from the outset.
"Get some rest," Fredrick finally said, his gruff murmur breaking the quiet. "I'll take first watch. We ride at dawn."
Fredrick retreated into the concealing shadows cast by the gently swaying trees, his alertness never wavering during his sworn watch. The occasional rustle of leaves and faint sounds of movement from Gwaine's bedroll indicated his friend found no more respite than he. His gaze drifted skyward, drawn by the inky darkness that cloaked the path stretching before them – much like the ominous pall hanging over the suffering knight. Fredrick wondered whether Gwaine would emerge from this torturous trial with his honor and self-belief intact, or if the haunting specter of his innermost pain would leave deep and lasting scars on his once irrepressible spirit.