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camelot_drabble2014-06-03 06:30 pm
springinstep.livejournal.com) wrote in camelot_drabble2014-06-03 06:30 pm
Entry tags:
You Take The Best Part Of Me With You
Author: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
springinstep
Title: You Take The Best Part Of Me With You
Rating: PG
Pairing/s: implied Gwaine/Lancelot
Character/s: Gwen, Gwaine
Summary: Gwen keeps an eye on Gwaine in his grief
Warnings: character death (post 4x02)
Word Count: 915
Prompt: 111: Nepenthe
Gwen was too many things to care for what those in Camelot may whisper behind her back. She is the daughter of the man who tried to escape justice, the sister of one of the peasant knights, the once maid and confidant to the traitor Morgana. So it doesn’t concern her that anybody should see as she pushes open the door to Gwaine’s room with her elbow and her shoulders and helps him stumble inside.
She’s often still awake when Evoric throws Gwaine out of The Rising Sun and closes for the night. Years of running to Morgana’s side after nightmares have left Gwen with an erratic sleep pattern, despite her long and hard work in the castle. So when she’s still awake she ventures out to pick Gwaine off the ground and return him to his bed.
When she lets him slide off where he’s been slumped heavily against her shoulder, Gwaine falls onto his bed with his legs dangling off the sides. But it will do. Gwen doesn’t try getting him under the covers, she knows there’s no chance of being able to move him now. But she does remove his boots. As she places them down by the bed, she hears the soft tap of the toes hitting against empty skins.
The lump in her throat stays while she quickly goes around the room, collecting the empty skins and a few tankards which litter the floor, gathering them in a small pile in a corner to deal with later.
Gwen misses Gwaine. When he would call her princess and toss a flower in her basket, when he would laugh even as Leon gave him an exasperated scolding for stealing from the kitchens, when he would saunter up to training two hours late and still have most men beaten into the ground within a few moments. Gwen doesn’t remember when she last saw that man.
Of all the people who had called Lancelot their friend, his death seemed to have hit Gwaine the hardest. After the funeral, Gwaine vanished for five days. He returned to Camelot as the sun was setting; exhausted, dishevelled, mud covering his boots and tangled in his hair. He still refused to say where he had been.
After that his mood was low and his temper short. He showed up later and later for training, if at all. Leon would berate him for it, but Gwaine either stood in stoic silence or walked away before Leon even finished a sentence. He got into arguments with the other knights and had just that morning rounded on one, punching him right in the nose and causing a heavy bleed. Arthur was furious, but stopped short of dealing Gwaine a harsh punishment. Instead he confined Gwaine to the armoury for the day, making him clean and polish every item inside.
Gwaine’s drinking changed as well. He had always been a merry drinker, full of songs and stories and rhymes. Evoric tolerated Gwaine, if only for his good temperament and the roaring trade he brought to the inn. Gwaine had always drunk a lot but now he drank too much, alone and silent, snapping if anybody came near him. Come closing time, Evoric would often have to drag Gwaine out by the collar of his shirt and dump him on the ground outside. When Gwen came along to pick him up, Gwaine was always laying so still that she would fear him dead.
It had been a long and hard day. They always were. And yet Gwen wasn’t tired. So she sat beside him, pushing away some of the unkempt hair which had fallen in front of his eyes and against his mouth.
“You need to stop,” she told him, her whisper sounding so loud in the still of the night. “If he could see you like this, wouldn’t he tell you to stop?”
Gwaine shifts, but his eyes don’t open. Instead he blindly touches against her palm with the tips of his fingers. He reaches up her middle finger, like someone fumbling for something through the dark. Then the finger to the left of that. Then he touched against her thumb, rubbing up and down it a few times. She allowed him.
“Lance?” his voice is still so thick with ale he can barely form the name past a grunt. Gwen presses her lips together, feels the knot in her stomach tighten, squeezes his hand gently and shakes her head.
“No. No, it’s Gwen.”
“Oh.” Gwaine’s eyelids seem to flicker like he’s trying to open them but he doesn’t succeed. “Your hands feel similar. But he has a knick. In his thumb. ‘bout there.”
She holds his hand tightly. “I’m sorry.”
She can’t think of anything else to say.
“’s stupid,” Gwaine murmurs, even as he seems to be falling into sleep again. “Should forget him. Make it stop. But. But I can’t.”
“Don’t. You don’t have to do that.”
There were too few good men in the world for Gwen to cast Lancelot from her mind. His memory hurt but, at the same time, she needed it.
Gwaine’s fingers wrap around hers and he pulls her hand down to press it against his forehead. Gwen listens to his breathing steady until he seems to be asleep, though he still looks troubled.
She doesn’t move. Gwen doesn’t know if she’ll sleep. But she slouches in the chair and closes her eyes anyway. She feels tears burn against the backs of her eyelids.
springinstepTitle: You Take The Best Part Of Me With You
Rating: PG
Pairing/s: implied Gwaine/Lancelot
Character/s: Gwen, Gwaine
Summary: Gwen keeps an eye on Gwaine in his grief
Warnings: character death (post 4x02)
Word Count: 915
Prompt: 111: Nepenthe
Gwen was too many things to care for what those in Camelot may whisper behind her back. She is the daughter of the man who tried to escape justice, the sister of one of the peasant knights, the once maid and confidant to the traitor Morgana. So it doesn’t concern her that anybody should see as she pushes open the door to Gwaine’s room with her elbow and her shoulders and helps him stumble inside.
She’s often still awake when Evoric throws Gwaine out of The Rising Sun and closes for the night. Years of running to Morgana’s side after nightmares have left Gwen with an erratic sleep pattern, despite her long and hard work in the castle. So when she’s still awake she ventures out to pick Gwaine off the ground and return him to his bed.
When she lets him slide off where he’s been slumped heavily against her shoulder, Gwaine falls onto his bed with his legs dangling off the sides. But it will do. Gwen doesn’t try getting him under the covers, she knows there’s no chance of being able to move him now. But she does remove his boots. As she places them down by the bed, she hears the soft tap of the toes hitting against empty skins.
The lump in her throat stays while she quickly goes around the room, collecting the empty skins and a few tankards which litter the floor, gathering them in a small pile in a corner to deal with later.
Gwen misses Gwaine. When he would call her princess and toss a flower in her basket, when he would laugh even as Leon gave him an exasperated scolding for stealing from the kitchens, when he would saunter up to training two hours late and still have most men beaten into the ground within a few moments. Gwen doesn’t remember when she last saw that man.
Of all the people who had called Lancelot their friend, his death seemed to have hit Gwaine the hardest. After the funeral, Gwaine vanished for five days. He returned to Camelot as the sun was setting; exhausted, dishevelled, mud covering his boots and tangled in his hair. He still refused to say where he had been.
After that his mood was low and his temper short. He showed up later and later for training, if at all. Leon would berate him for it, but Gwaine either stood in stoic silence or walked away before Leon even finished a sentence. He got into arguments with the other knights and had just that morning rounded on one, punching him right in the nose and causing a heavy bleed. Arthur was furious, but stopped short of dealing Gwaine a harsh punishment. Instead he confined Gwaine to the armoury for the day, making him clean and polish every item inside.
Gwaine’s drinking changed as well. He had always been a merry drinker, full of songs and stories and rhymes. Evoric tolerated Gwaine, if only for his good temperament and the roaring trade he brought to the inn. Gwaine had always drunk a lot but now he drank too much, alone and silent, snapping if anybody came near him. Come closing time, Evoric would often have to drag Gwaine out by the collar of his shirt and dump him on the ground outside. When Gwen came along to pick him up, Gwaine was always laying so still that she would fear him dead.
It had been a long and hard day. They always were. And yet Gwen wasn’t tired. So she sat beside him, pushing away some of the unkempt hair which had fallen in front of his eyes and against his mouth.
“You need to stop,” she told him, her whisper sounding so loud in the still of the night. “If he could see you like this, wouldn’t he tell you to stop?”
Gwaine shifts, but his eyes don’t open. Instead he blindly touches against her palm with the tips of his fingers. He reaches up her middle finger, like someone fumbling for something through the dark. Then the finger to the left of that. Then he touched against her thumb, rubbing up and down it a few times. She allowed him.
“Lance?” his voice is still so thick with ale he can barely form the name past a grunt. Gwen presses her lips together, feels the knot in her stomach tighten, squeezes his hand gently and shakes her head.
“No. No, it’s Gwen.”
“Oh.” Gwaine’s eyelids seem to flicker like he’s trying to open them but he doesn’t succeed. “Your hands feel similar. But he has a knick. In his thumb. ‘bout there.”
She holds his hand tightly. “I’m sorry.”
She can’t think of anything else to say.
“’s stupid,” Gwaine murmurs, even as he seems to be falling into sleep again. “Should forget him. Make it stop. But. But I can’t.”
“Don’t. You don’t have to do that.”
There were too few good men in the world for Gwen to cast Lancelot from her mind. His memory hurt but, at the same time, she needed it.
Gwaine’s fingers wrap around hers and he pulls her hand down to press it against his forehead. Gwen listens to his breathing steady until he seems to be asleep, though he still looks troubled.
She doesn’t move. Gwen doesn’t know if she’ll sleep. But she slouches in the chair and closes her eyes anyway. She feels tears burn against the backs of her eyelids.
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