Woo-hoo, I've finally mastered lj...I think. I hope. Anyway, another King Arthur fic, which I drove myself (and my friends) crazy trying to write... but I was victorious in the end.
Author:![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bluflamingo
Rating: PG
Feedback: Gratefully received, even if it's bad. Especially if it's bad.
Disclaimer: They're not mine. Except for Erec and Kay.
Notes: With thanks to lady_morgana for beta-reading, and Silke for providing an explanation to get the story moving again.
Summary: For the ‘Only the Strong Survive’ challenge at Kafanfic: for everything that we lose, we also gain something worth having.
‘Rus!’ Bors’ battle cry mostly drowned out Arthur’s shouted, ‘Charge!’ but they hardly needed either to send the line of knights leaping forward to meet the oncoming rush of Woads. Gawain just had time to glimpse Erec at the end of the line, sword raised, then he was swept into the press of battle and had neither time nor space to see anything beyond the next blue painted figure coming at him and falling away.
He’d done the same thing so many times that it had come to feel automatic, as though he could do it with his eyes closed. Not that he wanted to try that. He brought his axe down, knocking a Woad away in a spurt of blood, and in the brief space in front of him, he saw Erec swing off his horse and raise his sword to clash with a Woad’s blade. Gawain inhaled sharply, trying to suppress the familiar spark of fear – as though Erec wasn’t a perfectly capable fighter.
Then another Woad was coming at him and he had to look back to his own fight or risk a spear through his leg. The Woad glared at him and screamed something unintelligible as he hefted his spear. Gawain could feel himself yelling back, even though he couldn’t hear his own words, and he swung his axe and –
And the Woad dropped in front of him, head neatly separated from his body as Lancelot galloped by in a blur of movement and whirling swords. Which would have been fine, except Gawain’s swing, designed to carve through Woad flesh and bone, had more weight behind it and carried further than he’d intended at the same moment as his horse decided it didn’t care for the press of bodies next to it and swung in the same direction and then he was on the ground looking up.
The impact shuddered all the way up his spine and his vision swam into a burst of stars. Gawain blinked hard, trying to force it clear, images of spears coming straight at him dancing amongst the stars. Then the pain flared even sharper in his shoulder, and the stars coalesced into a brilliant flash and Gawain passed out.
-
‘Gawain.’ A hand closed on his wrist and he turned, smiling. ‘You in a hurry to get somewhere?’ Erec asked.
‘Well, Arthur did say something about a troop of Woads, but I’m sure they’ll wait.’ Erec’s grip on his wrist was warm and comforting, his smile as confident as ever.
‘The Woads are nothing if not patient,’ the other man agreed, and tugged gently on Gawain’s wrist. ‘Come on.’
Gawain glanced back at the gathering knights. ‘We’re supposed to be riding out…’ but he let himself be led back into the stables anyway.
‘I’m sure they won’t leave without us,’ Erec said reassuringly. His free hand drifted up to Gawain’s face, his fingertips tracing lightly over Gawain’s cheek. Gawain lifted his own hand, resting it against Erec’s neck, his eyes flickering half closed. It was so easy to forget what they were about to do, surrounded by the familiar smells of horses, falling into the pattern of many months.
Erec pulled Gawain’s wrist again, drawing them closer, and kissed him once, then again when Gawain tightened his hold on the other man.
From outside came a clatter of boots on cobblestones and Lancelot’s voice. ‘Gawain? Erec? I hate to interrupt…’
‘Liar. It’s what you live for,’ Erec called back, still close enough for Gawain to feel his breath as he spoke.
‘Just get out here before Arthur comes looking for you.’ Lancelot sounded like he might have been laughing but the threat was real enough. They’d not been with Arthur that long, and his possible reaction to a lot of things was still unpredictable.
Gawain sighed. ‘We’ll be right there,’ he called back, and was gratified to hear Lancelot leave again.
Erec squeezed his hand once, then stepped away. ‘Let’s go, then.’
The other knights were studiously looking the other way as the two of them walked back to their horses, but Gawain still caught a few knowing grins. Sod the lot of them.
He already had his foot in the stirrup when a hand ghosted across his leg. ‘Don’t get killed,’ Erec said, and then the touch was gone before Gawain could say anything back…
-
His first thought was that it didn’t feel as though he was lying on a battlefield – no stones in sensitive places, for one thing. His second thought was that the pain didn’t seem so bad either, and that was enough to force his eyes open to check he hadn’t died.
Tristan’s voice nearby said, ‘Don’t move,’ before he’d even got his vision to focus, which seemed to indicate ongoing existence. Which was good.
Everything slowly resolved itself into the knights’ quarters and Tristan on the edge of his vision. Gawain turned his head slightly and instantly regretted it as pain shot down his arm and up into his head.
‘I told you not to move,’ Tristan reprimanded.
Gawain’s ‘Sod off,’ came out as more of a croak than words, but Tristan’s huff of laughter was an equally appropriate response for either one.
And then Gawain’s brain caught up with him and pointed out what was wrong with the situation. ‘Where’s Erec?’ he asked, then had to force moisture into his mouth and repeat himself, the words still coming out high, forced by the sudden tightening in his chest.
Next to him, Tristan went very still, which was all the answer Gawain really needed.
For a moment, the whole world tilted, and when it righted itself again, Gawain heard his own voice, entirely clear, asking, ‘What happened?’ and wondered why he was asking when he knew what the answer must be.
Tristan answered anyway. ‘He was off his horse, and the Woads rushed him. He couldn’t fight them all, and we couldn’t get to him fast enough.’ He paused, as though he didn’t want to add the next bit, then did. ‘They cut his throat.’
Off his horse… That moment when Gawain had looked over and seen Erec clash with the Woad. Right before he’d fallen from his own horse and – and had Erec seen him fall and been distracted and..?
‘Gawain?’ Something must have shown on his face because Tristan was leaning closer, his eyes bright with worry and that wasn’t something that happened very often.
He remembered just in time not to shake his head. ‘When -.’ He swallowed and tried again. ‘When’s the burial?’
‘It was two days ago.’ Tristan spoke softly, his worried eyes unblinking on Gawain. ‘You had a fever, the wound got infected, and Arthur wanted to wait until you were well. The garrison commander refused.’
Gawain barely heard the end of Tristan’s explanation. Erec had been buried two days ago, and he’d missed it. Been unconscious the whole time and now he’d never get the time back, never get to say goodbye properly.
They’d buried Erec without him.
‘I’m sorry,’ Tristan said. ‘We tried to argue, but he wouldn’t listen, and we couldn’t tell him about you…’ Tristan didn’t really do sympathy all that well, and it showed in the uncharacteristically rapid burst of words, but he was trying and for that Gawain was distantly grateful. Not that it helped him think of anything to say.
‘You should rest,’ Tristan offered finally. ‘You’re still ill.’
Gawain wanted to reply, to say something to erase the unnaturally worried look on Tristan’s face, but there were too many thoughts and questions crowding his head. Instead, he nodded and closed his eyes and let the world drift away.
-
When he woke up again, it was to instant clarity and Tristan’s voice saying, ‘Lie still. You’ll hurt yourself.’
It was easier this time to comply, the weight in his chest killing any desire to move. Tristan stepped out of the shadow and sat on the edge of Gawain’s bed, allowing them to look at each other without any painful moving from Gawain.
‘Did I dream that?’ Gawain asked quietly, and was shocked by how unsteady his own voice sounded.
Tristan shook his head silently.
‘What happened to me?’ Apart from the dull ache in his shoulder, he didn’t feel physically ill, but Tristan was still sitting there.
‘A Woad. The wound got infected. You were unconscious for four days. The medicus thought -.’ Tristan stopped, apparently deeming that to be more information than Gawain needed. ‘Your fever broke yesterday. Arthur was worried.’
‘Are they all right?’ Gawain wondered for a moment if Tristan would follow the jumps in topic, but the other man seemed up to the task.
‘Lancelot got knocked out, but he’s fine now. Everyone is.’ Tristan paused, then added, ‘We were worried about you.’
Well, they always worried about each other, but it was rarely spoken out loud. Gawain didn’t know what to say to that.
‘You should eat something,’ Tristan said, sounding forced in a way Gawain had never heard from his friend. If Tristan didn’t know what to say, he normally just didn’t speak.
‘Yeah.’
‘Stay here. I’ll bring you something.’ And Tristan was gone before Gawain could protest, or indeed say anything at all.
He closed his eyes, blocking out the other beds around him. No-one was there and he wondered for a moment if they’d gone out without him. It was hard to care if they had, although it would be strange for Arthur to leave Tristan behind. He had no idea how long he’d just slept, whether it had been a few minutes or a couple of days. The entire Sarmatian army could have trailed in and out while he was sleeping, for all he knew.
Well, not the entire army. Gawain’s eyes flickered open again and he twisted carefully to look at the bed next to his. It had been the same in every garrison they’d been in since arriving in Britain – Tristan on his left, next to Lancelot, and Erec on his right, always ready to grumble about Bors’ snoring.
And now there was no-one between him and Bors, just a huge expanse of empty space.
Gawain reached out, but his arm wasn’t long enough to touch the other bed, and the lack of contact when he did so made the pain in his chest worse. Funny how easy it was to get used to things, to forget that there was a life before Erec’s hand in his at night, and the fluttering wings of the hawk Tristan had shown him one day when they were both missing home.
He wondered how long it would take to get used to the touch not being there, and someone else in Erec’s bed.
They’d buried Erec without him.
And he supposed they’d followed garrison tradition, and buried his things with him, and now there was nothing left. When they got posted somewhere else, Gawain would have nothing to say that Erec had ever existed.
He curled his right hand into a fist, nails digging hard into his palm. As close as he and Tristan had become on the ships from Britain, by virtue of being the only two who spoke their dialect of Sarmatian, Gawain wasn’t ready to cry in front of the other man.
He closed his eyes and tried to think of nothing.
They’d buried Erec without him.
‘Gawain?’ Shock forced his eyes open before he could even think of pretending to be sleeping, even though he knew the voice and should have been used to Tristan’s silence after so long.
‘Vanora made soup,’ Tristan offered. He set the bowl down and helped Gawain to sit up. ‘I think it’s vegetable.’
Gawain swallowed a spoonful. It didn’t taste like anything, but maybe that was just him. ‘Where’s your hawk?’
Clearly, Tristan hadn’t been expecting that, if the look on his face was anything to go by. ‘I’m not sure. She hasn’t come back yet.’ That was unusual, but Tristan didn’t seem too worried. Gawain ate a little more soup. ‘The medicus said he’d come and see you later today, but you’re to stay in bed.’
‘All right.’ He couldn’t work up the energy to care one way or the other. He finished the soup and set the bowl down. Tristan handed him a cup of highly watered down wine, and watched while he drank all of that as well.
When he reached out to replace the cup, Tristan took it from him and kept hold of his hand. He waited until Gawain got over his surprise enough to look up, and then said awkwardly, ‘It’s… I’m sorry. For Erec.’
And that, for some reason, filled his eyes with tears and made his throat close up. He wished, suddenly and sharply, for the way he’d once seen Kay throw his arm round Lancelot and hug him, briefly but intensely. He couldn’t imagine that with Tristan, somehow.
‘Thanks,’ he said, swallowing past the lump in his throat.
‘You should go back to sleep.’ Tristan released his hand but stayed where he was.
Closing his eyes again, Gawain found that strangely comforting.
-
Back in the familiar blur of blue and red, Gawain brought his axe down, knocking a Woad away in a spurt of blood, and in the brief space in front of him, he saw Erec swing off his horse and raise his sword to clash with a Woad’s blade. Gawain inhaled sharply, trying to suppress the familiar spark of fear – as though Erec wasn’t a perfectly capable fighter.
And then the gasp became a cry as Erec swung his sword up and missed, and the Woad’s blade smashed into him and –
And Gawain jerked awake in the dark and gasped for breath, feeling the warmth of tears, his whole body shaking.
Something moved in the dark, then a hand fluttered across his face before resting lightly on his shoulder. ‘It’s just a dream,’ Tristan said quietly.
Gawain gasped in another breath and tried to say something, but nothing came. And it might have been a dream, but it was still real, it had still happened. Erec was still gone.
He raised a hand to his face, scrubbing away the tears, which didn’t help a great deal, since he was still crying. Unthinking, he felt for Tristan’s hand and gripped it, hard. After a moment, Tristan squeezed back silently.
Gradually, the tears slowed and the shaking stopped, as though Tristan was willing some of his legendary calm back into Gawain. Enough, anyway, that Gawain became aware of the total quiet that told of a room of knights wide awake and listening. He remembered Tristan saying they’d been worried about him. Apparently that extended to worrying about nightmares as well.
‘You can go back to sleep now,’ he said softly.
‘You try sleeping with this lot snoring like pigs,’ Lancelot grumbled from his corner.
‘You’re one to talk,’ came from the other end of the room. ‘Dunno what you’re dreaming about, but we don’t all need to hear it.’
‘Shut up, the lot of you,’ Kay muttered. ‘Some people need sleep.’
Even muttering, he was fairly effective, and the room soon settled again. Then, out of the darkness, someone said, ‘Goodnight Gawain.’
-
The day the medicus finally declared Gawain well enough to get up and walk around was also the day that most of the knights were sent out to a neighbouring fort to act as an escort for a high-class Roman doing the rounds of the British outposts.
Which was how Gawain came to be wandering around the practice ring in the early evening, half-waiting for them to come back, and half-avoiding going anywhere that reminded him too strongly of Erec. He’d spent a large chunk of the day in the tavern, listening to Vanora talk about Bors’ unreliability as a parent, but eventually he’d had to leave, the constant expectation that Erec would walk in becoming unbearable.
And so to the practice ring, where at least they hadn’t spent a lot of time in the recent past, getting more than enough practice against real opponents. Every few minutes, he’d find himself staring up at the cemetery on the hill, without being aware of having turned to look at it. Somewhere up there was Erec, but the thought of going looking for him made Gawain feel like throwing up.
It barely made sense to him – it still hurt that they’d buried Erec without him, and yet he couldn’t bear the idea of actually seeing the grave. Too much like the kind of reality he’d been avoiding when he’d fled the tavern.
From the edge of the fort came the sound of the gates creaking open, and, closer, hooves on cobble stones. The first made sense – Arthur always tried to get them back before nightfall – but the second made Gawain turn, faintly curious. Coming across from the stables was an unfamiliar figure leading a much more familiar horse.
They drew closer, and the saddle became distinguishable from the grey coat of the animal. Gawain rubbed a hand across his eyes, telling himself he wasn’t seeing what he thought he was seeing. Or rather, that he was, but it was just a figment of his grief-addled imagination, like the nightmares.
Except that, like the nightmares, this was real. Across the practice ring, the man bent his head, as though speaking to the horse, which nuzzled him slightly in response. Then he swung himself up into the saddle and nudged the horse into a slow walk.
Gawain didn’t register letting go of the post he was leaning against, or vaulting the fence into the practice ring, or even starting to run across it, though he knew he must have done all of those things, since he was grabbing the other man’s leg and hauling him down from the horse.
The man yelped something as he hit the ground, then Gawain hit him and cut off whatever it would have been. A moment of surprise in the man’s eyes, then he swung back, catching Gawain on the side of the head when he didn’t duck quite fast enough.
The man didn’t look it, but he was strong, and he proved it by rolling Gawain off him and getting another punch in before Gawain could get his hands up, and push back, hitting wildly and connecting anyway, ignoring the pain that flared in his still healing shoulder, turning them over again, sky at his back and… And there were hands on him, pulling him up and away, and a burst of incomprehensible voices that gradually became Tristan saying, ‘Stop it, before you hurt someone.’
Which made no sense, since the whole point had been to hurt someone, but it stopped him anyway.
Tristan had his arm firmly round Gawain and was leading him quite rapidly out of the practice ring. Gawain tried to twist back to see what was happening, but Tristan kept moving, preventing him. He tried again anyway, anger still pulsing through him.
‘Stop it,’ Tristan said again, his voice low and calming, and that was all it took for the anger to trickle away, leaving Gawain sagging against Tristan, suddenly exhausted and close to tears.
‘He had Erec’s horse,’ he gasped. ‘What’s he doing on Erec’s horse?’
Tristan stopped and helped Gawain sit on a well-placed bench.
‘He had Erec’s horse,’ Gawain said again. Crouched in front of him, Tristan looked up at him silently. ‘What?’
‘You’re crying,’ Tristan said softly. He reached up and touched his hand to Gawain’s face, drawing it away wet.
‘He had Erec’s horse,’ Gawain repeated. It seemed like an explanation, if only Tristan would see it as well. ‘He had – fuck!’ Because then he really was crying, painful, shaking sobs, and was only distantly aware of Tristan shifting uncomfortably for a moment, then hugging him hard.
-
‘What kind of knight doesn’t have his own horse?’ Lancelot demanded.
‘The kind of knight whose horse was killed on the ride over when it stepped wrong in the river,’ Arthur said patiently, as though he hadn’t explained the very same thing twice already.
Lancelot humphed in disgust at that explanation, then became serious. ‘Does he have to have Erec’s? There isn’t a single other horse in the whole garrison?’
‘Not one that can be ridden into battle, no. Unless you’d have one of our knights on the cart-horse?’
Lancelot’s eyes said that would have made him eminently happy, but he could be reasonable when he had to. ‘No. Just -.’
‘Yes, Lancelot, he has to have Erec’s horse. Yes, it’s bad, no, Gawain’s not going to take it well, but yes, it has to happen.’ Snapping just a little, Kay rounded on the younger knight and saved Arthur from having to say the same thing yet again.
‘Gawain will see reason, I’m sure,’ Arthur added, trying to sound confident, though the look the three knights shared screamed of how unlikely they thought that was.
‘I’ll talk to him,’ Tristan offered, and, on Arthur’s dismissive nod, led the delegation out of their commander’s rooms. The door had barely closed behind them when Lancelot opened his mouth, but Kay cut across him fast.
‘You say one more word about the bloody horse, and I’ll run you through myself.’ Lancelot looked mildly put out by that comment, but he did shut up, for which Tristan was grateful. He was sure the man had Gawain’s best interests at heart, but he really didn’t know how to take no for an answer.
Kay patted Lancelot on the arm in a vaguely conciliatory fashion, and took his leave to who knew where. Lancelot and Tristan looked at each other for a moment, then Tristan shrugged slightly. ‘I’m going to find Gawain. And you’re not to upset him.’
Lancelot caught up with him a moment later. ‘Who said anything about upsetting him?’ he demanded. ‘He’s my friend as well, you know.’
Well, that had never been in doubt – Lancelot only ever got that angry for someone he cared about - but unfortunately, as far as Tristan was concerned, he hadn’t yet learnt that sometimes it helped more if he was angry on his friends’ behalf at a safe distance from them. ‘Then don’t upset him,’ Tristan repeated. ‘We all know it’s not a good solution, but it doesn’t help to have you keep pointing it out.’
Lancelot made a dismissive gesture at that and turned away. ‘Doesn’t need you mothering him, either,’ he grumbled, but quietly enough that Tristan could, and did, pretend not to have heard. He watched Lancelot stride away and made a private bet with himself that if he looked later he’d find the other knight searching the garrison for a horse.
Distracted by trying to decide what to say to Gawain, Tristan wasn’t paying quite as much attention as he should have been to where he was walking, and consequently didn’t quite manage to step out of the way of the knight coming the other way around the corner.
Disentangling himself, he noticed the familiar face and suppressed an urge to groan. Speak of the devil, and he appears.
‘Are you all this welcoming, or am I getting special treatment for some reason?’ That seemed overly harsh, but Tristan could sort of see the man’s point.
‘Galahad, isn’t it?’ he asked, straining for politeness and mostly managing it. ‘From the fort up the river?’
The other man nodded. ‘And you are?’
‘Tristan.’ He reminded himself that Galahad hadn’t had a wonderful reception, all things considered, but it didn’t make him want to be any more charitable. ‘We met briefly.’
It took a moment, but recognition flickered across Galahad’s face. ‘You pulled that mad man off me.’
‘He’s not mad. He was upset.’ Tristan didn’t like to share… well, anything, really… but even less what he knew about someone else. That said, Gawain and Galahad were going to have to get on, and Galahad didn’t seem the type to forgive just because he should.
‘Why?’ The genuine curiosity came further forward than the belligerence, so maybe there was hope yet.
‘The horse you were riding belonged to one of our knights. He was killed recently. He and Gawain were close.’ And that was all the explanation he was going to give.
He found Gawain right where he’d left him, sitting in the window in the knights’ quarters, staring out at the field. Tristan crouched next to him and took the damp cloth Gawain was holding to his face. The left side was already swollen and looked set to bruise beautifully. After a moment, Gawain turned to look at him, his eyes red and swollen, but dry. He blinked once, then asked, ‘What did Arthur want?’
So much for Tristan’s vague ideas of building up to the subject gradually. Gawain wasn’t stupid. ‘We’re being joined by some new knights. One of them lost his horse when it slipped in the river on the way here. He needs a horse and there aren’t any others.’
Gawain’s usually open face went blank. ‘All right,’ he said, his voice giving nothing away.
‘Lancelot’s scouring the garrison. He might find something.’ Tristan wanted to roll his eyes at himself, but Gawain was watching him. He didn’t seem to believe what Tristan was saying. ‘Arthur was asking if you’d come down to the tavern later.’
‘No, I think I’ll just stay here.’ Gawain turned back to the view. ‘You go though.’
It wasn’t exactly a dismissal, but it was as close as Gawain had ever come to one. Tristan shifted for a moment then stood. ‘I’ll bring you some food later,’ he offered.
‘If you want,’ Gawain said distantly.
Worried, Tristan left him.
-
Gawain opened his eyes to daylight and blinked in surprise. He’d got so used to waking in the darkness, half-recalled nightmares swirling round him, that it was a shock to realise he’d slept through the night.
His eyes were dry and painful, his shoulder and cheek ached dully, but he’d finally managed to sleep all night. On balance, that seemed like a fairish trade.
Around him, the other knights were beginning to rise with the usual grumbles about the early hour and Arthur’s ridiculous custom of gathering all of them at the Round Table for their morning meal. The grumbles were more out of tradition than actual displeasure, but none the quieter for it.
Gawain swung himself upright, paused for a moment to let his vision settle, and caught Tristan’s gaze. The other knight was half turned towards the window where Gawain had sat until late the night before, his body mostly in shadow. As Tristan smiled, Bors called, ‘You can’t have that animal in here.’
Then Gawain recognised the slight flaw in Tristan’s shadow – the hawk was back. He pulled his shirt on swiftly and stepped across to say hello. The hawk nibbled lightly at his finger, demanding food that Gawain didn’t have, but settled for a careful thumb traced across her head.
‘Are you coming down?’ Tristan asked. Gawain nodded, and stroked the hawk again. He’d come to a conclusion, staring out at the fields, and that was that, whether he liked it or not, Arthur had given Erec’s horse to the new knight, and he, Gawain, was the only thing left to remind them of Erec. So he couldn’t hide in the knights’ quarters forever.
And somewhere in the back of his mind was the thought that the Woad who’d taken Erec away from him was out there, and might one day have the bad luck to get caught by Gawain’s axe.
It was an oddly comforting thought.
‘You two coming?’ demanded Lancelot. ‘You know how Arthur feels about people being late.’
Gawain and Tristan both looked up at the same moment, just in time for Gawain to catch a flash of understanding in Tristan’s eyes.
‘You know, it’s a source of constant amazement to me,’ Kay said, grabbing Lancelot and hauling him away, ‘that you ever managed to keep still long enough for anyone to teach you how to wield a sword, never mind that you actually practised long enough to get good at it.’
If anyone noticed Gawain shifting a few seats away from where he normally sat, between Tristan and Erec, they didn’t say anything. Gawain suspected they all had, but the other knights could be surprisingly tactful at times.
Part-way through the meal, Arthur rose and gestured for silence. ‘As you’ve probably heard,’ he started, ‘We’re being joined by ten knights from another fort. They’ll be with us permanently now, so I’m sure you’ll make them feel welcome.’ Gawain kept his eyes down, waiting for mention of the fight the day before, but nothing came. ‘They’ll be joining us for training this morning,’ Arthur finished, and sat down again.
‘Are they any good?’ Lancelot asked. As if it could have been anyone else.
‘Course they are, they’re Sarmatian knights, aren’t they?’
That made the others laugh, breaking the tension, and the meal was finished in what passed for peace amongst the knights.
It was easy, walking out to the practice ring, to not think about the possibilities for unpleasant memories at the worst moments, but when the first thing Gawain saw as he walked out was the knight from the day before, it became much harder.
Next to him, Lancelot glared, which earned him a sharp cuff from Kay. So it was an on-going thing then.
The new knight detached himself from the conversation he’d been involved in and moved towards them.
‘What the – ’
‘I think you’re with me today,’ Tristan said firmly to Lancelot, cutting him off. ‘And you’re three-two down, if I remember…’ He marched Lancelot away, leaving Gawain thinking stupidly that he’d never asked if anyone knew the other knight’s name.
‘Gawain?’ the new knight asked, drawing closer. He seemed younger than he had the day before, though maybe that had something to do with Gawain not seeing him through a distorting haze of anger and pain.
‘Yes.’
The other knight tugged at one of his curls for a moment, then dropped his hand. ‘I’m sorry about your friend. And his horse. I didn’t know.’
‘No.’ It seemed the moment to apologise for hitting the man, but Gawain couldn’t quite force the words to come out. He probably shouldn’t have done it, but he wasn’t entirely sorry for it either.
‘Um…’ The hand drifted up towards the curls again, then stopped. ‘Tristan said you were close. And I wondered if, uh, if you wanted to take his horse instead.’
‘We don’t have any others.’ Which wasn’t a particularly intelligent comment, but Gawain hadn’t expected that.
‘I heard there are horse traders due through here soon.’ That was such a blatantly ridiculous idea that Gawain didn’t even bother with it.
He was still faintly surprised to hear himself saying, ‘We could swap. You’re shorter than me, so it might be better.’
Relief flashed across the man’s face. ‘Yes. All right.’
‘You’d better tell me your name then,’ Gawain suggested.
‘Galahad.’ His hand came up to tug at a curl again and he grinned a little. ‘Does this mean the man with the two swords will stop glaring at me?’
Gawain glanced across the ring to see Lancelot doing exactly that. ‘I shouldn’t hold my breath.’
-
Epilogue:
‘I don’t know how you ever controlled that horse,’ Gawain said. ‘I think he hates me. Or maybe he just misses you.’ He sighed and shifted a little. It was getting damp, and he could feel the cold seeping up from the grass he was sitting on.
‘You couldn’t have left me with something other than a recalcitrant horse, could you?’ He rubbed at the ache in his shoulder. Two days of being thrown off Erec’s horse had made it worse, but not so bad that he wouldn’t be back on the horse again in the morning.
‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I wanted to be…’ It was still hard to think of the burial without his throat closing slightly. Gawain thought that might be something that never went away. ‘It wasn’t fair of you to die on me like that. You promised you wouldn’t leave me behind.’ He closed his eyes for a moment, then sighed again. ‘And now I’m blaming a dead man. You’d better wait for me though. You owe me for leaving me with that bloody horse.’
Not that he’d give it up, even if he broke bones trying to tame it. If it was all Erec had left him with, he’d cling to it through everything.
‘Arthur says we might be going east again. Badon Hill. Never heard of it, but he’s enthusiastic. I thought we’d run out of Britain to go east into, actually.’ Another pause to breathe, then, ‘I asked if I could stay here. He said no. And then he talked at me for ten minutes about Heaven, and how you’re not here anymore. So he’d probably laugh at me for sitting here talking to you. Just – don’t forget about me.’
The grass behind him shifted slightly and Tristan’s shadow fell over him.
‘Galahad’s looking for you,’ he said quietly.
Gawain nodded, not moving. It wasn’t exactly goodbye, but he knew he wouldn’t be coming back to the grave, even if they didn’t move to the new fort. Arthur was right, even if Gawain couldn’t quite accept his ideas on Heaven – wherever Erec was, he wasn’t there. It just wasn’t easy to acknowledge that.
‘Do I have to be nice to him now?’ Tristan asked. He’d said nothing when Gawain had led Erec’s horse into the practice ring, but he’d slanted a long, calculating glance at Galahad, and had seemed to conclude that he wasn’t entirely bad.
Gawain nodded again.
Behind him, Tristan huffed a breath. ‘You like him?’
‘Yeah.’ And, Gawain had found to his surprise, he really did. Galahad seemed very young, but there was a depth of caring behind the childishness. And that habit of tugging at his curls was endearing in a kind of puppyish way.
‘All right then.’ Tristan stepped forward and held out a hand. After a moment, Gawain reached up and took it, allowing his friend to pull him up. ‘But don’t expect me to let him win when we train.’
‘Never crossed my mind,’ Gawain said honestly, and followed Tristan down the hill, towards the tavern lights.
The wind blew to the east.
Author:
bluflamingoRating: PG
Feedback: Gratefully received, even if it's bad. Especially if it's bad.
Disclaimer: They're not mine. Except for Erec and Kay.
Notes: With thanks to lady_morgana for beta-reading, and Silke for providing an explanation to get the story moving again.
Summary: For the ‘Only the Strong Survive’ challenge at Kafanfic: for everything that we lose, we also gain something worth having.
‘Rus!’ Bors’ battle cry mostly drowned out Arthur’s shouted, ‘Charge!’ but they hardly needed either to send the line of knights leaping forward to meet the oncoming rush of Woads. Gawain just had time to glimpse Erec at the end of the line, sword raised, then he was swept into the press of battle and had neither time nor space to see anything beyond the next blue painted figure coming at him and falling away.
He’d done the same thing so many times that it had come to feel automatic, as though he could do it with his eyes closed. Not that he wanted to try that. He brought his axe down, knocking a Woad away in a spurt of blood, and in the brief space in front of him, he saw Erec swing off his horse and raise his sword to clash with a Woad’s blade. Gawain inhaled sharply, trying to suppress the familiar spark of fear – as though Erec wasn’t a perfectly capable fighter.
Then another Woad was coming at him and he had to look back to his own fight or risk a spear through his leg. The Woad glared at him and screamed something unintelligible as he hefted his spear. Gawain could feel himself yelling back, even though he couldn’t hear his own words, and he swung his axe and –
And the Woad dropped in front of him, head neatly separated from his body as Lancelot galloped by in a blur of movement and whirling swords. Which would have been fine, except Gawain’s swing, designed to carve through Woad flesh and bone, had more weight behind it and carried further than he’d intended at the same moment as his horse decided it didn’t care for the press of bodies next to it and swung in the same direction and then he was on the ground looking up.
The impact shuddered all the way up his spine and his vision swam into a burst of stars. Gawain blinked hard, trying to force it clear, images of spears coming straight at him dancing amongst the stars. Then the pain flared even sharper in his shoulder, and the stars coalesced into a brilliant flash and Gawain passed out.
-
‘Gawain.’ A hand closed on his wrist and he turned, smiling. ‘You in a hurry to get somewhere?’ Erec asked.
‘Well, Arthur did say something about a troop of Woads, but I’m sure they’ll wait.’ Erec’s grip on his wrist was warm and comforting, his smile as confident as ever.
‘The Woads are nothing if not patient,’ the other man agreed, and tugged gently on Gawain’s wrist. ‘Come on.’
Gawain glanced back at the gathering knights. ‘We’re supposed to be riding out…’ but he let himself be led back into the stables anyway.
‘I’m sure they won’t leave without us,’ Erec said reassuringly. His free hand drifted up to Gawain’s face, his fingertips tracing lightly over Gawain’s cheek. Gawain lifted his own hand, resting it against Erec’s neck, his eyes flickering half closed. It was so easy to forget what they were about to do, surrounded by the familiar smells of horses, falling into the pattern of many months.
Erec pulled Gawain’s wrist again, drawing them closer, and kissed him once, then again when Gawain tightened his hold on the other man.
From outside came a clatter of boots on cobblestones and Lancelot’s voice. ‘Gawain? Erec? I hate to interrupt…’
‘Liar. It’s what you live for,’ Erec called back, still close enough for Gawain to feel his breath as he spoke.
‘Just get out here before Arthur comes looking for you.’ Lancelot sounded like he might have been laughing but the threat was real enough. They’d not been with Arthur that long, and his possible reaction to a lot of things was still unpredictable.
Gawain sighed. ‘We’ll be right there,’ he called back, and was gratified to hear Lancelot leave again.
Erec squeezed his hand once, then stepped away. ‘Let’s go, then.’
The other knights were studiously looking the other way as the two of them walked back to their horses, but Gawain still caught a few knowing grins. Sod the lot of them.
He already had his foot in the stirrup when a hand ghosted across his leg. ‘Don’t get killed,’ Erec said, and then the touch was gone before Gawain could say anything back…
-
His first thought was that it didn’t feel as though he was lying on a battlefield – no stones in sensitive places, for one thing. His second thought was that the pain didn’t seem so bad either, and that was enough to force his eyes open to check he hadn’t died.
Tristan’s voice nearby said, ‘Don’t move,’ before he’d even got his vision to focus, which seemed to indicate ongoing existence. Which was good.
Everything slowly resolved itself into the knights’ quarters and Tristan on the edge of his vision. Gawain turned his head slightly and instantly regretted it as pain shot down his arm and up into his head.
‘I told you not to move,’ Tristan reprimanded.
Gawain’s ‘Sod off,’ came out as more of a croak than words, but Tristan’s huff of laughter was an equally appropriate response for either one.
And then Gawain’s brain caught up with him and pointed out what was wrong with the situation. ‘Where’s Erec?’ he asked, then had to force moisture into his mouth and repeat himself, the words still coming out high, forced by the sudden tightening in his chest.
Next to him, Tristan went very still, which was all the answer Gawain really needed.
For a moment, the whole world tilted, and when it righted itself again, Gawain heard his own voice, entirely clear, asking, ‘What happened?’ and wondered why he was asking when he knew what the answer must be.
Tristan answered anyway. ‘He was off his horse, and the Woads rushed him. He couldn’t fight them all, and we couldn’t get to him fast enough.’ He paused, as though he didn’t want to add the next bit, then did. ‘They cut his throat.’
Off his horse… That moment when Gawain had looked over and seen Erec clash with the Woad. Right before he’d fallen from his own horse and – and had Erec seen him fall and been distracted and..?
‘Gawain?’ Something must have shown on his face because Tristan was leaning closer, his eyes bright with worry and that wasn’t something that happened very often.
He remembered just in time not to shake his head. ‘When -.’ He swallowed and tried again. ‘When’s the burial?’
‘It was two days ago.’ Tristan spoke softly, his worried eyes unblinking on Gawain. ‘You had a fever, the wound got infected, and Arthur wanted to wait until you were well. The garrison commander refused.’
Gawain barely heard the end of Tristan’s explanation. Erec had been buried two days ago, and he’d missed it. Been unconscious the whole time and now he’d never get the time back, never get to say goodbye properly.
They’d buried Erec without him.
‘I’m sorry,’ Tristan said. ‘We tried to argue, but he wouldn’t listen, and we couldn’t tell him about you…’ Tristan didn’t really do sympathy all that well, and it showed in the uncharacteristically rapid burst of words, but he was trying and for that Gawain was distantly grateful. Not that it helped him think of anything to say.
‘You should rest,’ Tristan offered finally. ‘You’re still ill.’
Gawain wanted to reply, to say something to erase the unnaturally worried look on Tristan’s face, but there were too many thoughts and questions crowding his head. Instead, he nodded and closed his eyes and let the world drift away.
-
When he woke up again, it was to instant clarity and Tristan’s voice saying, ‘Lie still. You’ll hurt yourself.’
It was easier this time to comply, the weight in his chest killing any desire to move. Tristan stepped out of the shadow and sat on the edge of Gawain’s bed, allowing them to look at each other without any painful moving from Gawain.
‘Did I dream that?’ Gawain asked quietly, and was shocked by how unsteady his own voice sounded.
Tristan shook his head silently.
‘What happened to me?’ Apart from the dull ache in his shoulder, he didn’t feel physically ill, but Tristan was still sitting there.
‘A Woad. The wound got infected. You were unconscious for four days. The medicus thought -.’ Tristan stopped, apparently deeming that to be more information than Gawain needed. ‘Your fever broke yesterday. Arthur was worried.’
‘Are they all right?’ Gawain wondered for a moment if Tristan would follow the jumps in topic, but the other man seemed up to the task.
‘Lancelot got knocked out, but he’s fine now. Everyone is.’ Tristan paused, then added, ‘We were worried about you.’
Well, they always worried about each other, but it was rarely spoken out loud. Gawain didn’t know what to say to that.
‘You should eat something,’ Tristan said, sounding forced in a way Gawain had never heard from his friend. If Tristan didn’t know what to say, he normally just didn’t speak.
‘Yeah.’
‘Stay here. I’ll bring you something.’ And Tristan was gone before Gawain could protest, or indeed say anything at all.
He closed his eyes, blocking out the other beds around him. No-one was there and he wondered for a moment if they’d gone out without him. It was hard to care if they had, although it would be strange for Arthur to leave Tristan behind. He had no idea how long he’d just slept, whether it had been a few minutes or a couple of days. The entire Sarmatian army could have trailed in and out while he was sleeping, for all he knew.
Well, not the entire army. Gawain’s eyes flickered open again and he twisted carefully to look at the bed next to his. It had been the same in every garrison they’d been in since arriving in Britain – Tristan on his left, next to Lancelot, and Erec on his right, always ready to grumble about Bors’ snoring.
And now there was no-one between him and Bors, just a huge expanse of empty space.
Gawain reached out, but his arm wasn’t long enough to touch the other bed, and the lack of contact when he did so made the pain in his chest worse. Funny how easy it was to get used to things, to forget that there was a life before Erec’s hand in his at night, and the fluttering wings of the hawk Tristan had shown him one day when they were both missing home.
He wondered how long it would take to get used to the touch not being there, and someone else in Erec’s bed.
They’d buried Erec without him.
And he supposed they’d followed garrison tradition, and buried his things with him, and now there was nothing left. When they got posted somewhere else, Gawain would have nothing to say that Erec had ever existed.
He curled his right hand into a fist, nails digging hard into his palm. As close as he and Tristan had become on the ships from Britain, by virtue of being the only two who spoke their dialect of Sarmatian, Gawain wasn’t ready to cry in front of the other man.
He closed his eyes and tried to think of nothing.
They’d buried Erec without him.
‘Gawain?’ Shock forced his eyes open before he could even think of pretending to be sleeping, even though he knew the voice and should have been used to Tristan’s silence after so long.
‘Vanora made soup,’ Tristan offered. He set the bowl down and helped Gawain to sit up. ‘I think it’s vegetable.’
Gawain swallowed a spoonful. It didn’t taste like anything, but maybe that was just him. ‘Where’s your hawk?’
Clearly, Tristan hadn’t been expecting that, if the look on his face was anything to go by. ‘I’m not sure. She hasn’t come back yet.’ That was unusual, but Tristan didn’t seem too worried. Gawain ate a little more soup. ‘The medicus said he’d come and see you later today, but you’re to stay in bed.’
‘All right.’ He couldn’t work up the energy to care one way or the other. He finished the soup and set the bowl down. Tristan handed him a cup of highly watered down wine, and watched while he drank all of that as well.
When he reached out to replace the cup, Tristan took it from him and kept hold of his hand. He waited until Gawain got over his surprise enough to look up, and then said awkwardly, ‘It’s… I’m sorry. For Erec.’
And that, for some reason, filled his eyes with tears and made his throat close up. He wished, suddenly and sharply, for the way he’d once seen Kay throw his arm round Lancelot and hug him, briefly but intensely. He couldn’t imagine that with Tristan, somehow.
‘Thanks,’ he said, swallowing past the lump in his throat.
‘You should go back to sleep.’ Tristan released his hand but stayed where he was.
Closing his eyes again, Gawain found that strangely comforting.
-
Back in the familiar blur of blue and red, Gawain brought his axe down, knocking a Woad away in a spurt of blood, and in the brief space in front of him, he saw Erec swing off his horse and raise his sword to clash with a Woad’s blade. Gawain inhaled sharply, trying to suppress the familiar spark of fear – as though Erec wasn’t a perfectly capable fighter.
And then the gasp became a cry as Erec swung his sword up and missed, and the Woad’s blade smashed into him and –
And Gawain jerked awake in the dark and gasped for breath, feeling the warmth of tears, his whole body shaking.
Something moved in the dark, then a hand fluttered across his face before resting lightly on his shoulder. ‘It’s just a dream,’ Tristan said quietly.
Gawain gasped in another breath and tried to say something, but nothing came. And it might have been a dream, but it was still real, it had still happened. Erec was still gone.
He raised a hand to his face, scrubbing away the tears, which didn’t help a great deal, since he was still crying. Unthinking, he felt for Tristan’s hand and gripped it, hard. After a moment, Tristan squeezed back silently.
Gradually, the tears slowed and the shaking stopped, as though Tristan was willing some of his legendary calm back into Gawain. Enough, anyway, that Gawain became aware of the total quiet that told of a room of knights wide awake and listening. He remembered Tristan saying they’d been worried about him. Apparently that extended to worrying about nightmares as well.
‘You can go back to sleep now,’ he said softly.
‘You try sleeping with this lot snoring like pigs,’ Lancelot grumbled from his corner.
‘You’re one to talk,’ came from the other end of the room. ‘Dunno what you’re dreaming about, but we don’t all need to hear it.’
‘Shut up, the lot of you,’ Kay muttered. ‘Some people need sleep.’
Even muttering, he was fairly effective, and the room soon settled again. Then, out of the darkness, someone said, ‘Goodnight Gawain.’
-
The day the medicus finally declared Gawain well enough to get up and walk around was also the day that most of the knights were sent out to a neighbouring fort to act as an escort for a high-class Roman doing the rounds of the British outposts.
Which was how Gawain came to be wandering around the practice ring in the early evening, half-waiting for them to come back, and half-avoiding going anywhere that reminded him too strongly of Erec. He’d spent a large chunk of the day in the tavern, listening to Vanora talk about Bors’ unreliability as a parent, but eventually he’d had to leave, the constant expectation that Erec would walk in becoming unbearable.
And so to the practice ring, where at least they hadn’t spent a lot of time in the recent past, getting more than enough practice against real opponents. Every few minutes, he’d find himself staring up at the cemetery on the hill, without being aware of having turned to look at it. Somewhere up there was Erec, but the thought of going looking for him made Gawain feel like throwing up.
It barely made sense to him – it still hurt that they’d buried Erec without him, and yet he couldn’t bear the idea of actually seeing the grave. Too much like the kind of reality he’d been avoiding when he’d fled the tavern.
From the edge of the fort came the sound of the gates creaking open, and, closer, hooves on cobble stones. The first made sense – Arthur always tried to get them back before nightfall – but the second made Gawain turn, faintly curious. Coming across from the stables was an unfamiliar figure leading a much more familiar horse.
They drew closer, and the saddle became distinguishable from the grey coat of the animal. Gawain rubbed a hand across his eyes, telling himself he wasn’t seeing what he thought he was seeing. Or rather, that he was, but it was just a figment of his grief-addled imagination, like the nightmares.
Except that, like the nightmares, this was real. Across the practice ring, the man bent his head, as though speaking to the horse, which nuzzled him slightly in response. Then he swung himself up into the saddle and nudged the horse into a slow walk.
Gawain didn’t register letting go of the post he was leaning against, or vaulting the fence into the practice ring, or even starting to run across it, though he knew he must have done all of those things, since he was grabbing the other man’s leg and hauling him down from the horse.
The man yelped something as he hit the ground, then Gawain hit him and cut off whatever it would have been. A moment of surprise in the man’s eyes, then he swung back, catching Gawain on the side of the head when he didn’t duck quite fast enough.
The man didn’t look it, but he was strong, and he proved it by rolling Gawain off him and getting another punch in before Gawain could get his hands up, and push back, hitting wildly and connecting anyway, ignoring the pain that flared in his still healing shoulder, turning them over again, sky at his back and… And there were hands on him, pulling him up and away, and a burst of incomprehensible voices that gradually became Tristan saying, ‘Stop it, before you hurt someone.’
Which made no sense, since the whole point had been to hurt someone, but it stopped him anyway.
Tristan had his arm firmly round Gawain and was leading him quite rapidly out of the practice ring. Gawain tried to twist back to see what was happening, but Tristan kept moving, preventing him. He tried again anyway, anger still pulsing through him.
‘Stop it,’ Tristan said again, his voice low and calming, and that was all it took for the anger to trickle away, leaving Gawain sagging against Tristan, suddenly exhausted and close to tears.
‘He had Erec’s horse,’ he gasped. ‘What’s he doing on Erec’s horse?’
Tristan stopped and helped Gawain sit on a well-placed bench.
‘He had Erec’s horse,’ Gawain said again. Crouched in front of him, Tristan looked up at him silently. ‘What?’
‘You’re crying,’ Tristan said softly. He reached up and touched his hand to Gawain’s face, drawing it away wet.
‘He had Erec’s horse,’ Gawain repeated. It seemed like an explanation, if only Tristan would see it as well. ‘He had – fuck!’ Because then he really was crying, painful, shaking sobs, and was only distantly aware of Tristan shifting uncomfortably for a moment, then hugging him hard.
-
‘What kind of knight doesn’t have his own horse?’ Lancelot demanded.
‘The kind of knight whose horse was killed on the ride over when it stepped wrong in the river,’ Arthur said patiently, as though he hadn’t explained the very same thing twice already.
Lancelot humphed in disgust at that explanation, then became serious. ‘Does he have to have Erec’s? There isn’t a single other horse in the whole garrison?’
‘Not one that can be ridden into battle, no. Unless you’d have one of our knights on the cart-horse?’
Lancelot’s eyes said that would have made him eminently happy, but he could be reasonable when he had to. ‘No. Just -.’
‘Yes, Lancelot, he has to have Erec’s horse. Yes, it’s bad, no, Gawain’s not going to take it well, but yes, it has to happen.’ Snapping just a little, Kay rounded on the younger knight and saved Arthur from having to say the same thing yet again.
‘Gawain will see reason, I’m sure,’ Arthur added, trying to sound confident, though the look the three knights shared screamed of how unlikely they thought that was.
‘I’ll talk to him,’ Tristan offered, and, on Arthur’s dismissive nod, led the delegation out of their commander’s rooms. The door had barely closed behind them when Lancelot opened his mouth, but Kay cut across him fast.
‘You say one more word about the bloody horse, and I’ll run you through myself.’ Lancelot looked mildly put out by that comment, but he did shut up, for which Tristan was grateful. He was sure the man had Gawain’s best interests at heart, but he really didn’t know how to take no for an answer.
Kay patted Lancelot on the arm in a vaguely conciliatory fashion, and took his leave to who knew where. Lancelot and Tristan looked at each other for a moment, then Tristan shrugged slightly. ‘I’m going to find Gawain. And you’re not to upset him.’
Lancelot caught up with him a moment later. ‘Who said anything about upsetting him?’ he demanded. ‘He’s my friend as well, you know.’
Well, that had never been in doubt – Lancelot only ever got that angry for someone he cared about - but unfortunately, as far as Tristan was concerned, he hadn’t yet learnt that sometimes it helped more if he was angry on his friends’ behalf at a safe distance from them. ‘Then don’t upset him,’ Tristan repeated. ‘We all know it’s not a good solution, but it doesn’t help to have you keep pointing it out.’
Lancelot made a dismissive gesture at that and turned away. ‘Doesn’t need you mothering him, either,’ he grumbled, but quietly enough that Tristan could, and did, pretend not to have heard. He watched Lancelot stride away and made a private bet with himself that if he looked later he’d find the other knight searching the garrison for a horse.
Distracted by trying to decide what to say to Gawain, Tristan wasn’t paying quite as much attention as he should have been to where he was walking, and consequently didn’t quite manage to step out of the way of the knight coming the other way around the corner.
Disentangling himself, he noticed the familiar face and suppressed an urge to groan. Speak of the devil, and he appears.
‘Are you all this welcoming, or am I getting special treatment for some reason?’ That seemed overly harsh, but Tristan could sort of see the man’s point.
‘Galahad, isn’t it?’ he asked, straining for politeness and mostly managing it. ‘From the fort up the river?’
The other man nodded. ‘And you are?’
‘Tristan.’ He reminded himself that Galahad hadn’t had a wonderful reception, all things considered, but it didn’t make him want to be any more charitable. ‘We met briefly.’
It took a moment, but recognition flickered across Galahad’s face. ‘You pulled that mad man off me.’
‘He’s not mad. He was upset.’ Tristan didn’t like to share… well, anything, really… but even less what he knew about someone else. That said, Gawain and Galahad were going to have to get on, and Galahad didn’t seem the type to forgive just because he should.
‘Why?’ The genuine curiosity came further forward than the belligerence, so maybe there was hope yet.
‘The horse you were riding belonged to one of our knights. He was killed recently. He and Gawain were close.’ And that was all the explanation he was going to give.
He found Gawain right where he’d left him, sitting in the window in the knights’ quarters, staring out at the field. Tristan crouched next to him and took the damp cloth Gawain was holding to his face. The left side was already swollen and looked set to bruise beautifully. After a moment, Gawain turned to look at him, his eyes red and swollen, but dry. He blinked once, then asked, ‘What did Arthur want?’
So much for Tristan’s vague ideas of building up to the subject gradually. Gawain wasn’t stupid. ‘We’re being joined by some new knights. One of them lost his horse when it slipped in the river on the way here. He needs a horse and there aren’t any others.’
Gawain’s usually open face went blank. ‘All right,’ he said, his voice giving nothing away.
‘Lancelot’s scouring the garrison. He might find something.’ Tristan wanted to roll his eyes at himself, but Gawain was watching him. He didn’t seem to believe what Tristan was saying. ‘Arthur was asking if you’d come down to the tavern later.’
‘No, I think I’ll just stay here.’ Gawain turned back to the view. ‘You go though.’
It wasn’t exactly a dismissal, but it was as close as Gawain had ever come to one. Tristan shifted for a moment then stood. ‘I’ll bring you some food later,’ he offered.
‘If you want,’ Gawain said distantly.
Worried, Tristan left him.
-
Gawain opened his eyes to daylight and blinked in surprise. He’d got so used to waking in the darkness, half-recalled nightmares swirling round him, that it was a shock to realise he’d slept through the night.
His eyes were dry and painful, his shoulder and cheek ached dully, but he’d finally managed to sleep all night. On balance, that seemed like a fairish trade.
Around him, the other knights were beginning to rise with the usual grumbles about the early hour and Arthur’s ridiculous custom of gathering all of them at the Round Table for their morning meal. The grumbles were more out of tradition than actual displeasure, but none the quieter for it.
Gawain swung himself upright, paused for a moment to let his vision settle, and caught Tristan’s gaze. The other knight was half turned towards the window where Gawain had sat until late the night before, his body mostly in shadow. As Tristan smiled, Bors called, ‘You can’t have that animal in here.’
Then Gawain recognised the slight flaw in Tristan’s shadow – the hawk was back. He pulled his shirt on swiftly and stepped across to say hello. The hawk nibbled lightly at his finger, demanding food that Gawain didn’t have, but settled for a careful thumb traced across her head.
‘Are you coming down?’ Tristan asked. Gawain nodded, and stroked the hawk again. He’d come to a conclusion, staring out at the fields, and that was that, whether he liked it or not, Arthur had given Erec’s horse to the new knight, and he, Gawain, was the only thing left to remind them of Erec. So he couldn’t hide in the knights’ quarters forever.
And somewhere in the back of his mind was the thought that the Woad who’d taken Erec away from him was out there, and might one day have the bad luck to get caught by Gawain’s axe.
It was an oddly comforting thought.
‘You two coming?’ demanded Lancelot. ‘You know how Arthur feels about people being late.’
Gawain and Tristan both looked up at the same moment, just in time for Gawain to catch a flash of understanding in Tristan’s eyes.
‘You know, it’s a source of constant amazement to me,’ Kay said, grabbing Lancelot and hauling him away, ‘that you ever managed to keep still long enough for anyone to teach you how to wield a sword, never mind that you actually practised long enough to get good at it.’
If anyone noticed Gawain shifting a few seats away from where he normally sat, between Tristan and Erec, they didn’t say anything. Gawain suspected they all had, but the other knights could be surprisingly tactful at times.
Part-way through the meal, Arthur rose and gestured for silence. ‘As you’ve probably heard,’ he started, ‘We’re being joined by ten knights from another fort. They’ll be with us permanently now, so I’m sure you’ll make them feel welcome.’ Gawain kept his eyes down, waiting for mention of the fight the day before, but nothing came. ‘They’ll be joining us for training this morning,’ Arthur finished, and sat down again.
‘Are they any good?’ Lancelot asked. As if it could have been anyone else.
‘Course they are, they’re Sarmatian knights, aren’t they?’
That made the others laugh, breaking the tension, and the meal was finished in what passed for peace amongst the knights.
It was easy, walking out to the practice ring, to not think about the possibilities for unpleasant memories at the worst moments, but when the first thing Gawain saw as he walked out was the knight from the day before, it became much harder.
Next to him, Lancelot glared, which earned him a sharp cuff from Kay. So it was an on-going thing then.
The new knight detached himself from the conversation he’d been involved in and moved towards them.
‘What the – ’
‘I think you’re with me today,’ Tristan said firmly to Lancelot, cutting him off. ‘And you’re three-two down, if I remember…’ He marched Lancelot away, leaving Gawain thinking stupidly that he’d never asked if anyone knew the other knight’s name.
‘Gawain?’ the new knight asked, drawing closer. He seemed younger than he had the day before, though maybe that had something to do with Gawain not seeing him through a distorting haze of anger and pain.
‘Yes.’
The other knight tugged at one of his curls for a moment, then dropped his hand. ‘I’m sorry about your friend. And his horse. I didn’t know.’
‘No.’ It seemed the moment to apologise for hitting the man, but Gawain couldn’t quite force the words to come out. He probably shouldn’t have done it, but he wasn’t entirely sorry for it either.
‘Um…’ The hand drifted up towards the curls again, then stopped. ‘Tristan said you were close. And I wondered if, uh, if you wanted to take his horse instead.’
‘We don’t have any others.’ Which wasn’t a particularly intelligent comment, but Gawain hadn’t expected that.
‘I heard there are horse traders due through here soon.’ That was such a blatantly ridiculous idea that Gawain didn’t even bother with it.
He was still faintly surprised to hear himself saying, ‘We could swap. You’re shorter than me, so it might be better.’
Relief flashed across the man’s face. ‘Yes. All right.’
‘You’d better tell me your name then,’ Gawain suggested.
‘Galahad.’ His hand came up to tug at a curl again and he grinned a little. ‘Does this mean the man with the two swords will stop glaring at me?’
Gawain glanced across the ring to see Lancelot doing exactly that. ‘I shouldn’t hold my breath.’
-
Epilogue:
‘I don’t know how you ever controlled that horse,’ Gawain said. ‘I think he hates me. Or maybe he just misses you.’ He sighed and shifted a little. It was getting damp, and he could feel the cold seeping up from the grass he was sitting on.
‘You couldn’t have left me with something other than a recalcitrant horse, could you?’ He rubbed at the ache in his shoulder. Two days of being thrown off Erec’s horse had made it worse, but not so bad that he wouldn’t be back on the horse again in the morning.
‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I wanted to be…’ It was still hard to think of the burial without his throat closing slightly. Gawain thought that might be something that never went away. ‘It wasn’t fair of you to die on me like that. You promised you wouldn’t leave me behind.’ He closed his eyes for a moment, then sighed again. ‘And now I’m blaming a dead man. You’d better wait for me though. You owe me for leaving me with that bloody horse.’
Not that he’d give it up, even if he broke bones trying to tame it. If it was all Erec had left him with, he’d cling to it through everything.
‘Arthur says we might be going east again. Badon Hill. Never heard of it, but he’s enthusiastic. I thought we’d run out of Britain to go east into, actually.’ Another pause to breathe, then, ‘I asked if I could stay here. He said no. And then he talked at me for ten minutes about Heaven, and how you’re not here anymore. So he’d probably laugh at me for sitting here talking to you. Just – don’t forget about me.’
The grass behind him shifted slightly and Tristan’s shadow fell over him.
‘Galahad’s looking for you,’ he said quietly.
Gawain nodded, not moving. It wasn’t exactly goodbye, but he knew he wouldn’t be coming back to the grave, even if they didn’t move to the new fort. Arthur was right, even if Gawain couldn’t quite accept his ideas on Heaven – wherever Erec was, he wasn’t there. It just wasn’t easy to acknowledge that.
‘Do I have to be nice to him now?’ Tristan asked. He’d said nothing when Gawain had led Erec’s horse into the practice ring, but he’d slanted a long, calculating glance at Galahad, and had seemed to conclude that he wasn’t entirely bad.
Gawain nodded again.
Behind him, Tristan huffed a breath. ‘You like him?’
‘Yeah.’ And, Gawain had found to his surprise, he really did. Galahad seemed very young, but there was a depth of caring behind the childishness. And that habit of tugging at his curls was endearing in a kind of puppyish way.
‘All right then.’ Tristan stepped forward and held out a hand. After a moment, Gawain reached up and took it, allowing his friend to pull him up. ‘But don’t expect me to let him win when we train.’
‘Never crossed my mind,’ Gawain said honestly, and followed Tristan down the hill, towards the tavern lights.
The wind blew to the east.
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