Congratulations and thanks so much to everyone who participated! This community is so cool and it was really great seeing what y'all made <3 Unfortunately, it is about time to close down the collection and wrap things up.
This blog has several of the fics saved here and of course all the fics are in the ao3 collection (linked in previous posts) if you'd like to give the amazing authors some love!!
I will most definitely be hosting this again next year so if you didn't get a chance to join in on the fun you can totally do that again! Thanks again and have fun out there, gwaincelot lovers!
Gwaincelot week day 7- Free space! (Prompt: soulmates)
Lancelot had always dreamt about his soulmate. The stories his father used to tell him about how he met his mother and they had found- beautiful, precise- their words written on each other's skin. He became soft-spoken and, lacking a better word, adoring. He wanted that. He wanted to be that. He wanted to be able to share his life with someone who understood him, with the other half of his soul.
"Partners in woes and partners in drinks, hey Lance?"
As a young boy he had memorised his soulmate's first words because, romantic as he was, he didn't want to forget them once his soulmate said them and they inevitably got erased. This way he would hold out hope that he would meet them, not wanting to entertain the possibility of not… no. He would meet them. He had to. He would. He wasn't scared of novelty; he wasn't scared of risks.
Lancelot was a dreamer, but his dreams had been crushed during his first days in Camelot.
He met Merlin and in him he found a kindred spirit. Lancelot could see that he was subdued, that he had been much more cheerful before (before what? He may be curious, but he knew it was Merlin's choice whether he told him or not), but he recognised the glimmer of hope that he occasionally saw in the mirror. At first, he had hoped that Merlin was his soulmate, but he hadn't uttered those words he had so ardently memorised, those words that he so fervently hoped to hear.
Lancelot wasn't too bothered by it. He knew Merlin was waiting for his own soulmate (Had he found them? Lancelot hadn't asked. Perhaps he had been too afraid to lose hope) and that they would still be friends despite everything.
With Gwen, though…
Her first words hadn't been directed to him, but to Merlin. (Had it been about Arthur or about him? He didn't know for certain and he wasn't sure he was willing to relive that moment. Lancelot dealt better with denial than he did disappointment.) Nevertheless, when he saw the way in which her kind eyes didn’t just look past him and her smile became brighter, sincere. The warmth quickly spreading across his chest and the hammering of his heart told him she was his soulmate.
He was sure of it.
“I think you’ll make an excellent knight, Lancelot,” She smiled at him. “I’m sure of it.”
Her smile remained firmly on her face, oblivious at the sound of Lancelot’s breaking heart.
In a way, Lancelot was glad that he left Camelot. Merlin was his friend and it was best for both of them if he left, lest he accidentally betrayed his secret. Being away from Gwen also would help, he supposed. It was as if his hope had finally fully dimmed and he had nothing to wait for anymore.
He met Gwen again once, twice, more times, and his feelings hadn’t changed. He was in love with her. He had fallen in love with someone who wasn’t his soulmate and it felt… good God, it felt freeing. For the first time in years, he tried to forget about his soulmark because, if it wasn’t her that it led her to, it couldn’t be right. For the first time in years, he covered his soulmark and kept it covered.
He was… more or less happy from then on. Of course, the void left by Gwen’s tentative love eclipsed the permanent void of his soulmate, but he had made friends during his wanderings and could learn to be content with that. He slept a little easier at night knowing that he had someone to watch his back and his friends back in Camelot did so too.
He forgot about his soulmate in every aspect of his life but his dreams. Then he came back to Camelot a new, perhaps yet optimistic man; at least he matched the shadows behind Merlin's eyes now.
Enter Gwaine.
Gwaine, with his carefree and double-edged nature; Gwaine, who smoothed people up with his honeyed words and then mercilessly slashed with his tongue; Gwaine, who didn't seem to care about nobility or rank yet held himself as if he was taught to be better than others. Everything about the man: from his hair, his mask of foolishness and his piercing hazel eyes to his smirk and the fact that he never interacted with Lancelot much more than a grin or a raised eyebrow.
Gwaine mostly ignored him (saved for pointed looks), so Lancelot returned the favour. He would much rather focus on himself, Guinevere and her blossoming relationship with Arthur. He loved her still.
The one thing that he admired about the older man was his devotion towards Merlin. In a shorter span of time, Gwaine had gotten much closer to the younger man than any of the other knights had. He flirted with him and teased him and miraculously managed to pull a shy yet pleased smile out Merlin, but Lancelot noticed that Gwaine never pushed whenever the warlock didn't want him to. He was smitten and, watching them, the idea of soulmates (that hadn't crossed his mind in so long) came back with no warning.
Perhaps Gwaine was Merlin's soulmate. Perhaps he was the man Merlin had been waiting for.
Lancelot then learnt to dislike Gwaine a little less, even though he hadn't said a word to the man.
Winter came around, spreading its cold wings and Yuletide decorations all over the land and, with Yule came the traditional Yule ball. And, of course, the Royal Couple attended, being as close to each other as ever. In a way, Lancelot understood why she chose Arthur over him or anyone else: the way that they looked at each other was proof enough of how they belonged together. The Noble Knight had been a fool for ever thinking they would part.
It was snowing. Lancelot liked the snow. Instead of going to the ball, he had bundled himself up with his warmest clothes and taken a walk across the citadel wall, clutching a goblet of spiced wine that he had snuck out along the way. He tried to clear his mind, focusing on the dark skies coated with clouds and the feeling of the warm drink on his fingers, but his mind and eyes strayed to the dancing people he could see from the window panes. Gwen was there.
Lancelot swallowed and turned away. A chuckle interrupted his thoughts.
"Partners in woes and partners in drinks, hey Lance?"
Gwaine smiled at him, soft and sad, swirling his own drink around and not-so-subtly nodding towards the ballroom, where their blond King twirled his wife around while Merlin (wonderful, fantastic Merlin whom Gwaine could barely look away from) stood diligently beside them.
"I know the world doesn't revolve around him but… sometimes it seems like people do." Lancelot sighed. "So… who brings you woe?"
He expected a debonaire grin and perhaps a teasing remark, but when he turned towards Gwaine, he found the man's hazel eyes to be wide and his jaw hanging open.
"What?"
"I-" Gwaine swallowed before continuing, running his fingers through his hair. "When I sat down it was Merlin, but now it's you."
Lancelot frowned and began to stand up, offended, until Gwaine grabbed his arm with a pleading look.
"Don't you… don't you realise what you've said?"
Lancelot blinked at him as if he had gone absolutely mad, but then he replayed their conversation and- oh.
Partners in drinks and partners in woes.
Gwaine was his soulmate. Gwaine was his soulmate and he didn't love him.
He didn't love his soulmate.
"You… but you don't love me."
Lancelot sat back down.
"You don't love me either, Lance. But that's not all that soulmates are, don't you think?"
That… that made Lancelot stop.
"Just look at us," Gwaine smiled tentatively. "In love with people who, in turn, love our King. Desperately wishing to meet our soulmate despunte having given up a long time ago. A commoner posing as a noble and a noble posing as a commoner, both chosen to be knights in a world in which otherwise we would be hated."
Gwaine had gotten closer and Lancelot could see something… kindredship perhaps? Acceptance? in the other man's eyes.
"I'd love to have you as someone to confide in."
Lancelot smiled and, with one last look towards the ballroom (Merlin, Gwen, Arthur, dancing, adoration, destiny, devotion, love love love love love), he let himself fall. For once in his life he was certain that someone would be there to catch him.
Lancelot was staring. Gwaine was laughing and drinking and joking around and Lancelot was staring. At first he didn’t really know what the hell he was doing, going to the tavern with the others, but they had managed to trade his guard duty with another knight and had dragged him there. Nursing his drink (because someone had to be alert and sober just in case), he spent his evening looking around. And, of course, his eyes returned to Gwaine.
Gwaine, with his long hair and his playful hazel eyes and the freckles dusting his cheeks and the mischief in his smiles. From the day they had met during the attack of the Immortal Army, he had been on edge around the other man. He had been usnure as to why for a long time, but recently he had realized that-
“You cold, Lancey- Lance?”
Gwaine was now in front of him grinning cheekily, drunkenly, but with a glint of concern twinkling in his eyes. Perhaps it was that which drew him in. It was too late when Lancelot noticed that he was shivering.
“Don’t call me that.”
“I guess it’s kinda drafty,” Gwaine continued, ignoring Lancelot. “I mean, you haven’t asked for another pint since you got the first one. Can’t be too warm, then. Can you?”
“I suppose,”
And, before he knew what Gwaine was doing, a warm jacket was draped around his shoulders. Instinctively, he adjusted it so it wouldn’t fall off, then raised his glass at Gwaine as a sign of thanks. The grateful smile he received in response kept him staring, even when Gwaine wasn’t staring back anymore.
~ooo~
Gwaine was staring. Lancelot was carefully avoiding his eyes every time he caught the other man looking at him while nursing his drink and with his jacket wrapped around him and Gwaine was staring. He knew that Lancelot had been more than reticent about going to the tavern with them and yes, perhaps he did feel a little guilty about convincing the others to bring Lancelot along, but he wanted to talk to him in private. And, for the time being, he was not achieving this.
Gwaine had not always liked Lancelot. At first, he seemed like a goody-two-shoes, a priss, a perfect little soldier who follows orders without thinking, the paragon of nobility. He frustrated Gwaine. The man was not of noble blood but had wished to be one of them so badly despite multiple rejections that it had only increased his holier-than-thou attitude; and that infuriated Gwaine to unimaginable lengths.
Then he learnt what Lancelot had done to achieve his status as a knight. He learnt of the cheating, of the tricking, of the cage-fighting and the blood, and all with that passive-agressive (but never impolite) smile on his face. His respect for him grew tenfold there and then. Had he known how chaotic the curly-haired knight was from the start and how damn well he hid it, he would have fallen for him much, much sooner.
So Gwaine was staring.
He still wasn’t quite sure why he had given Lancelot his jacket, but he had seen the other man shiver the one time their eyes met and his lack of filter had taken over. He supposed that the shivers being from the cold were much better than the alternative; Gwaine’s heart wouldn’t be able to take it.
He wasn’t ashamed to admit that the main reason he was drinking was to gain the courage to speak to him properly. He hadn’t counted on Lancelot’s eyes following him all night. An all-too familiar feeling bubbled in his gut, threatening to spill over alongside his laughter, but he did his best to force it out: no use hoping if he wasn’t prepared for disappointment.
“Hey Lance!” He called, and it was clear to him there and then that his brain to mouth filter had turned in for the night. “According to our dear friends here, I’ve had enough to drink. Join me outside?”
Some people whistled, many with mischief in their smiles, but Gwaine paid no mind to them. Hoping Lancelot wouldn't mind too much (he couldn't tell with the blush coating his face), he winked before walking outside. The cold air of the night immediately sobered him and the bubbling pit of hope that had taken hold of him inside the tavern had frozen into a solid block of dread.
"Gwaine," Lancelot called.
"I hope I wasn't too forward, Lance," He tried with a smile, but it never reached his eyes. "You did look quite uncomfortable overall, and I hope…"
"No."
Gwaine frowned and tilted his head.
"I think… you're going to…" Lancelot opened and closed his mouth a few times, unsure and remorseful, but carried on anyway as gallantly as he could. "You like me, do you not? And you're going to tell me now,"
Gwaine chuckled but looked away. Staring, as much as he might want to, was not Gwaine's best bet. As stupid and pointless as it may be, he still held out hope. Was that a fool's hope?
"Am I that transparent?" He tried to smile.
He was baring his feelings: for the first time they were not merely being reflected in his eyes, in his stare: they were falling from lips alongside his heart.
"No. I just… I saw it in your eyes."
"And what do you say, then?"
Lancelot was silent and, for the first time, when Gwaine looked at him he wasn't looking back.
"Come on, I'm baring my heart out for you here. This isn't-"
Lancelot fought to keep his voice steady and his eyes dry. He counted his breaths in and out, in and out. And finally…
"No, Gwaine. My answer is no."
Gwaine's eyes widened and his hopeful grin broke into a blank, fake one.
"Oh. I-" He swallowed. "I hope… Well, I mean, we can still-"
But Lancelot didn't seem to have heard. He was struggling with words, trying his best to let his thoughts leave his mind like Gwaine had done.
"I didn't mean- I meant, not now. Not while you're like this."
"What?"
"Look, Gwaine. It's not that I doubt you, but… I've had bad experiences with this already,"
Gwaine didn't understand what Lancelot was trying to tell him, but then the other man's arms were around him and he was pulling him into a hug, taking this chance to whisper into his hair:
"Go to bed, Gwaine, sleep it off. Tell me tomorrow when you're sober, yes?"
And the cracks in his voice, the whispers, the closeness, the intimacy, it all made Gwaine understand. He didn't need to look into his eyes to see it. So he melted into Lancelot's arms and Lancelot welcomed him there.
"If I do, will the answer change?"
"Perhaps,"
"Then I will. I'll ask you tomorrow."
Despite not being able to see it, Gwaine could feel Lancelot's smile against his skin, and he closed his eyes.
Two children, both of around eight years of age, were rushing down a hill, giggling and playing all the way. They hadn’t known each other for long, but they had become fast friends all the same because, despite the differences in birth and family, they had a common goal: knighthood.
Though they knew, logically, that their friendship would soon be carelessly torn apart by status, families and swords, they still stood close when they walked and they still held hands when they were playing together. The boys, long past their bedtime, lay down on the grass among the daisies and gazed up at the stars like they had done countless times before.
“They are different everywhere you go,” One of them muttered.
“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never left.” The other boy answered, aiming for nonchalant but the hint of bitterness in his voice was evident. “I’d love to, but I’m no noble. You have better chances of seeing them than me.”
The first boy hummed, unbothered by his friend’s pessimism, and linked their hands together between them.
“Would you like to learn about them? The stars, I mean.”
“Yeah,”
“We could… we could always learn about the stars together,”
They looked at each other and the softness in the sky was reflected in their smiles.
“You… you promise you’ll wait for me?”
“Yeah, Lance. I promise.”
“Well, I promise too.” The other boy grinned.
~ooo~
It had been years since Gwaine had thought about his childhood friend. Deaths, threats, kings and nobles, then rogues, slavers, thieves and pirates. His nobility and dreams of knighthood had been long forgone and even despised, and he had taken to travelling as far as possible from the place that had watched him grow. He was content.
Well. As content as he could be.
As fate would have it, hsi wanderings brought him to the borders of his former home and, in the spur of the moment, he rode in. what he found, however, as he neared the place where his house once stood, was nothing but ruins. His heart dropped as he dismounted, gradually walking faster and faster until he reached Lancelot’s old house. It had been some time, but he still remembered the way: the streets, the corners, and the steps it took. The house was now nothing but a pile of rubble and blown-away ashes.
His jaw dropped. His fists clenched. His eyes watered. His knees buckled. He collapsed onto the ground because L, his childhood friend, his wonderful and gentle and kind and beautiful L was gone along with his childhood home.
It had been a harsh blow for Gwaine, who still cherished the memories of his long-lost friend, but years of hardships and adversities had taught him to keep a brave face in times of sorrow, so that is what he did. Sighing, he closed his eyes and turned away, not once looking back while he left.
Gwaine rode for a long time without stopping after that. In order to purge the happy memories of his childhood, as well as his friend’s cheerful smile, Gwaine took to visiting taverns and staying there, drinking until he got kicked out.
Time then passed relatively quickly. Despite having built up a fairly decent resistance to liquor during his time at sea, alcohol made his days blur in a haxe of dim lights, bright colours and endless nights. One day, among the stench of stale ale and the sound of misery, two new faces walked into the tavern and, as soon as his eyes met those of the other men, his smile widened.
They promised adventure, that was certain, and a good time if he played his cards right. The dark-haired man seemed younger, more cheerful, but there was an air of wisdom and loneliness to him, as if he had lived through more than anyone in the tavern combined. The other man, the blond, seemed to have an untrustworthy airl, like he didn’t really belong in a griny place like this, but he was good-looking enough for Gwaine to ignore this.
He was about to approach them but they got into trouble saying the wrong thing (Gwaine was honestly surprised at how long it took them, truth be told) and Gwaine, ever the kind gentleman with broken dreams of knighthood, helped them out.
“What’s your name?”
Ale, pots and plates flew everywhere.
“Merlin.”
“Gwaine,” He shook Merlin’s hand with a flirtatious smile. “Nice to meet you.”
Gwaine had grabbed Merlin and Arthur (whom he learnt the name of later) and sped out of the place, stealing three horses and sprinting away as quickly as the horses’ legs could carry them.
“So,” He began after a large distance between them and the tavern was ensured. “What brings a couple like you to a place like that?”
The pleasant blush that had coated the younger man’s face quickly died at his companion’s curt reply.
“We’re not a couple.”
Gwaine raised his eyebrows and wisely decided not to comment on the clear fondness in both their eyes whenever they looked at each other. His self-preservation instincts may be weak, but they were still there.
“My mistake, mate. I’m not one to judge, in any case,”
He shot Merlin a wink and received a playful shove in response. Arthur cleared his throat, shot them both a scathing and mildly embarrassed look and urged them to continue their journey.
It wasn’t until later that he found out that he had unknowingly saved the Prince of Camelot’s life (and gotten wounded in the process), and even later when he saved it again willingly and for some godforsaken reason. He got exiled for his troubles, unsurprisingly, but being somewhat of a knight for a few hours caused an onslaught of bittersweet memories to invade his mind. His eight-year-old self. His eight-year-old friend. Their quickly shattered dreams.
“I had a friend once,” He commented offhandedly the next time he met Merlin.
(And wasn’t that a thought. Even in exile he could play knight for people who didn’tn care for him as much as for his skills, and he would do it not only willingly, but without second thoughts too.)
“He was kind, hardworking. Dreamt of being a knight.”
“What happened to him?”
“I don’t know.” He answered, truthfully for once. “I hope he’s happy- I mean, he’s determined and I don’t doubt that anything he puts his head into he’ll achieve, but…”
“You lost track of him?”
“You could say that, yes. And… I suppose it scares me,”
He saw Merlin and Arthur not long after that and got pulled into yet another life-threatening adventure. An immortal army had taken over Camelot and Arthur needed help. He needed friends, and apparently Gwaine was one of them.
“Gwaine!”
They had set up camp in a cave, but he had wandered off. Merlin was calling him now, but he was quite comfortable sitting on the grass in a meadow he had found, staring at the sky.
“Gwaine, there are a couple of new people joining us!”
He lay down among the daisies, counting his breaths and the constellations he could find out loud. It had been a long time since he had had some time alone among the stars, so newcomers be damned.
“Bit far off from the North Star, but you’re doing well,”
A new voice, much closer this time. He scrambled to sit upright and his eyes widened at the voice that, though it had changed, undoubtedly belonged to his childhood friend.
“Lance?”
“Hello Gwaine. It’s… it’s been a while,” He smiled. “I see you learnt about the stars without me,”
“Well,” Gwaine began, slightly irked. “So did you!”
“That’s good,” Lancelot smiled, seemingly ignoring Gwaine’s rebuttal. “That way we can teach each other, right?”
Gwaine’s heart raced and his grin widened when Lancelot laced their fingers together.
Gwaincelot week Day 3- linger, friends with benefits, "you matter to me"
When people thought of Gwaine and Lancelot, they thought of a golden-hearted scoundrel and the kindest and most Noble man one could ever meet respectively. Gwaine was flirty, flighty, careless and unbothered, and yet for some unknown reason, Lancelot hung around him still. Nobody knew why, but people assumed that Lancelot would be a good influence on Gwaine and Gwaine would make Lancelot less uptight. They could not be more wrong.
There was a bond there that nobody expected, or rather understood; a secrecy that rivaled even Merlin's loomed around the two men. So, of course, their perfect little dynamic had to be broken somehow.
"We heard, King Arthur, that a known mercenary was hiding in your kingdom, posing as a knight."
The knights of Camelot, who had been summoned but asked to wait outside the throne room at the specific request of the visiting king and the royal entourage, all turned to look at each other with worry bleeding into their gazes. They all knew at least a little about each other's pasts and deeds, and they were all eyeing Gwaine with both concern and protectiveness written all over their faces.
"We won't let anything happen to you, Gwaine. Don't worry," Leon began, determined, and Lancelot bit back a frustrated groan.
"You'll be safe, Gwaine. Stand behind me so they don't see you when they call us in and-"
Percival was cut off by Lancelot who, features schooled in a carefully neutral expression, had grabbed Gwaine's arm and pulled him to his side.
"I'll take him to Gaius'. We can just say he got hurt during training or something and we'll hide him in Merlin's room. It'll be safer."
Ignoring Gwaine's confused- and quite offended- look, Lancelot pretended to preen a little at the praise. After nodding at his friends, he clapped each of them on the shoulder and, without lingering for a single second, he grabbed Gwaine's hand instead and left.
"What the hell was that about?" Gwaine whisper-shouted angrily when he was sure they were out of earshot. "I know I'm not the mercenary they're looking for- I remember everyone that may have debts to settle with me."
"Listen, Gwaine. I know they're not looking for you. I know!" Lancelot snapped back, irritation évident in both his face and his voice. "They're looking for me!"
Gwaine's eyes widened, disbelief a clear picture on his face. Despite spending perhaps more time than any of the other knights with Lancelot and knowing definitely more of him than the other's did due to their arrangement, he hadn't really expected this. their conversations in bed hardly delved into their past, perhaps because they both were trying their damndest to keep the 'No strings' part of their arrangement intact. Not that either of them were being too successful but denial was all they had, so they would work with that.
No. Their conversations, always in hushed tones and breathless words, revolved around their current lives or their future. Never what they had done. So it came off as somewhat of a surprise to Gwaine that Lancelot had been not only a mercenary but a wanted one at that.
"Well, I always knew you weren't as much of a goody-two-shoes as everyone here paints you as," He smirked.
He earned a light smack on the shoulder for his troubles, but the nervous tension that Lancelot's body had been prisoner of had slowly dissipated and was replaced by weak chuckles.
"Thanks," Lancelot muttered.
"Not an issue, mate." Gwaine winked. "We have all done things we're not proud of."
Gwaine thought of his situation for a while and, assessing their situation, he quickly turned towards his chambers, then closed the door behind them.
"So," He began, more serious than anyone had heard him in a long time. "What's the plan? I'm sure Arthur will protect you, you're his best knight! But-"
"It all comes down to the other man's power," Lancelot nodded. "And I'm afraid it's not little."
Gwaine clasped his shoulder in sympathy. He knew how stubborn noble picks could be and was very familiar with the multiple ways they could fuck up one's life. Gwaine's chambers were in a relatively secluded place, where the throne room could be seen and heard but not the other way around; so Gwaine and Lancelot sat beside the window and listened.
"Why do you think one of my knights is-"
"I understand why you might be ashamed, King Arthur, as this proves how your decision to knight… commoners… May have not been the wisest,"
"Excuse me, how dare-"
"But you couldn't have known, my Lord, so fret not. This man is slippery and ruthless, and it would be very easy for him to infiltrate your court."
"I assure you-"
"Capturing this criminal, my Lord, would ensure peace between our kingdoms. He is vicious, efficient and heartless, and I can assure you that he'll be executed as soon as we step foot on my kingdom."
"None of my knights…"
"I know it may seem hard to believe, but my men will do the job just fine. They know how to deal with this scoundrel and… well… perhaps your knights would prefer to keep their memory of Lancelot alive as it is."
Silence filled both the throne room and Gwaine's chambers.
"Well, efficient is right," Gwaine whispered into Lancelot's ear.
The outraged shouts in the throne room fell deaf to Gwaine's ears, replaced fully by Lancelot's relieved chuckles.
"I'm… I'm going to have to leave for a while, Gwaine. Lay low until I deal with the problem and then… maybe return to Camelot. Arthur can't suffer because of this; it wouldn't be fair. He didn't know."
The thought of losing his friend (and nighttime partner) made his chest constrict in a weird way, but Gwaine thought nothing of it, deeming his friend’s escape more important.
“You can hide in my chambers for a while. There’s a corner in my closet with a crevice you can fit in and at night we could sneak out. I’ll deal with the fallout for you.”
Lancelot seemed to want to protest, but then Gwaine squeezed his hands, nothing more than earnest desire to help in his eyes, and his protests died out.
“Won’t people ask? About why you are covering for me.”
“Are you planning on coming back?”
Lancelot sighed, not wanting to meet Gwaine’s eyes.
“A lot has changed today… and a lot will change in the time I’m gone. I don’t know if I’ll be welcome even if I do want to come back, so… I don’t know. I’m not certain I will.”
Footsteps and a few harsh knocks interrupted them, so Gwaine shoved them both into his closet and closed the door behind them.
“Weren’t you meant to stay outside? To keep guard and distract them? What the he-”
Gwaine simply kissed the deadpan tone out of Lancelot’s mouth.
A few hours later, both of them emerged from the closet with their clothes slightly askew and flushed faces.
“Everyone will be asleep now. Let’s go,” Lancelot whispered, and Gwaine nodded behind him.
They browled down the empty, darkened halls until they reached the stables and Lancelot, with a cloak stolen from Gwaine’s closet wrapped around his frame, clasped Gwaine’s shoulder one last time.
“Thank you for this, really. You are the greatest friend I’ve had,” He smiled in an effort to wipe the sadness in his eyes away.
Gwaine’s heart got stuck in his throat. Logically, he knew that he should be urging Lancelot to leave, lest they were found by an oncoming patrol, but his voice seemingly refused to cooperate.
“I- I will miss you, Lance,” was the only thing he managed to say.
And then: “You matter to me. You matter to me a great deal.”
Had any onlooker been watching, they would have seen the fondness in Lancelot’s smile and the heartbreak in his eyes.
“You matter to me a great deal too, Gwaine. I hope I get to see you again.”
And, after pressing his forehead against Gwaine’s for a few brief moments, he climbed onto his horse and rode off.
I’ll love you until my flesh decays and my soul descends.
Gwaincelot week day 6- ghosts, angst "why are you doing this?"
Warnings: Major character death
Notes: This was meant to be posted in @glass-frogs-and-dragons
Lancelot woke up, trembling and disoriented, in the physician’s chambers. Had he been paler he would have passed for dead; his skin was clammy and his eyes unfocused and he felt overall like a dragon had mauled him. Before he could grab ahold of himself, he felt a cold hand on his forehead and was met with bright golden eyes. His vision then turned black once again.
Lancelot woke up for the second time and found Merlin sitting in front of him.
“Merlin?”
“I’m glad to see you’re awake, Lancelot,” The younger man attempted to smile.
Lancelot rubbed his face, noticing his unkempt stubble and the dark bags under his eyes. Vines and thorn bushes had grown in his mind since the last time he was awake, and so he was having some trouble recalling his memories, but he was sure that whatever had led him to be where he was, it definitely wasn’t good. He closed his eyes as tightly as he could, then opened them again, confirming that he had, in fact, completely forgotten about the reason why he was in Gaius’ chambers.
“Lancelot,” Merlin began. “Do you… I mean, what do you… what do you remember?”
“Nothing after when… I think it was yesterday. We went on patrol… it’s all hazy. I think we may have encountered some bandits?”
“Lancelot… oh, gods. That was around a week ago. You’ve been unconscious for days,”
The knight swallowed and groaned. Tempted as he was to cry, scream, rush out of bed, punch something, find… No. He had a reputation to uphold and Merlin didn’t deserve a tantrum. His eyes, wild and unthinking, scoured the room in search for… what was it? What did he need? What was he so desperately missing?
He found it. He found him. His hazel eyes were dull and his skin tinted grey but, as always, Gwaine had a soft, private half-smile. His body relaxed, but a gentle squeeze from Merlin made him jolt and tense up again.
“You might need a few weeks of… to adjust. Arthur told me to tell you that you don’t have to go to training or anything for the time being. At least not until you get better.”
“Merlin, I feel fine! I can-”
“You have barely recovered from the stab wound and the poison and… well, everything else. You need to rest. Please, Lancelot, if not for anything, rest for me.”
Lancelot looked back at the corner of the room, but Gwaine was long gone.
“Yeah. Maybe… maybe it’s for the best.”
The next few days were an unsettling blur for him. People still smiled at him, though their lips and eyes were lined with pity. Everyone refused to tell him what had actually happened, making up excuses or simply saying: “Oh, dear. I’m so sorry for your loss”. He still didn’t know what he had lost. The knights would put their hands on his shoulder or nod whenever he saw them (which was not often); even Arthur and Merlin refused to meet his eyes.
But that wasn’t the worst part. Sure, he could somewhat handle Leon’s polite ‘I think Arthur is calling me’ or Percival’s ‘I am meant to meet up with Elyan for patrol. See you later?’, but what hurt him the most was Gwaine. Gwaine, with whom he had built a tentative relationship based on sneaking out, dancing around each other and being far closer than most friends without barely talking about it. Gwaine, who Lancelot could have sworn loved him and whom Lancelot loved in return.
Gwaine, who refused to direct a single word or glance in his direction.
He had tried to call his attention as discreetly as possible because they hadn’t told anyone about… well, about them yet. He had tried politely asking him for favours in order to be alone, or nodding towards empty alcoves or his own chambers. Even during his walks around the palace and city, when he could swear up and down that Gwaine was following him, the other man ignored Lancelot.
Lancelot, however, was oblivious to the whisperings and pitying glances that he was shot every time he tried to speak with his lover.
“Gwaine,” He tried one day.
He was tired. His head and heart and legs ached. According to both Merlin and Gaius, his recovery was going slower than intended, and at this point, Lancelot had given up in trying to understand.
“Gwaine, please,” He begged.
The long-haired knight was walking in front of him, but he gave no signs of having heard him.
“Gwaine!” He shouted, uncaring about his reputation or anyone who might overhear. “Gwaine, why are you doing this?! Why are you ignoring me?! What did I do?”
Gwaine had stopped, but he had kept his back turned towards Lancelot.
“Do you…” The curly-haired knight ignored how his voice broke. “If you regret what was going on, if you regret us, then at least have the guts to tell me face to face,”
“I love you,” Was Gwaine’s answer.
He then turned around. His skin was still grey and his eyes were still dull but there was an underlying panic, a desperation that Lancelot had not seen before.
“I love you, Lance. I love you, I love you, I love you. And I’ll love you until my flesh decays and my soul descends. I love you.”
And oh, Lancelot wanted so desperately to believe it but here they were, arguing in an empty hallway that was growing colder by the second. They were shouting at each other after Gwaine had ignored him completely for days. Lancelot still wanted to believe him, but Gwaine’s voice was breaking and bitter.
“Then why…?”
“Don’t you remember?” The hazel-eyed man asked in disbelief, tears finally falling. “I died, Lancelot! You love a dead man! I’m not really… I’m stuck here for some god-forsaken reason and this? Watching you pine, watching you love me and hurt from afar, watching you see me but not being able to do anything about it? It’s painful, Lance. For both of us.”
It was then that Lancelot stopped walking forward. Gwaine’s hand found its way to Lancelot’s cheek but, far from the usual warmth he felt, it was now cold and boneless.
Gwaine smiled at him and Lancelot blinked behind his tears. He could only mutter his name over and over again.
“Let go, Lance. Please… for both our sakes, yeah?”
Lancelot covered his mouth and collapsed onto his knees. When he wanted to look up, just as he heard his name being called (was that Merlin?) an onslaught of memories invaded him. Gwaine was gone.
~ooo~
“Gwaine! Gwaine! Where is he?!”
“Calm down, Lancelot. It’s best if you-”
“With all due respect, My Lord,” His words were spat with the bitterness of any poison. “I need to see him.”
“Wait, Lancelot. Don’t-”
“LET ME SEE MY LOVER! LET ME THROUGH!”
Gwaine was on the floor; caked in mud and grime and blood and sweat, with tangled hair and a smug grin on his lips to hide the pin he was in. Blood trickled from his nose, his lips, his side, and Lancelot had been too slow to stop it.
“Gwaine. Gwaine, Gwaine, Gwaine, Gwaine, please…”
Gwaine’s hand shook as it lifted to land on Lancelot’s cheek. His thumb caressed his lips, leaving a bloody mark on them, only watered down by the tears rolling down Lancelot’s cheeks. Blood and salt water dribbled down his chin and his sobs echoed in the now silent battlefield.
“Gwaine… I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. And I’ll love you until my flesh decays and my soul descends. I love you, don’t go. Please, don’t leave me here. Don’t leave me alone…”
Summary: Gwaine is afraid of the dark and can't sleep. Lancelot is afraid of his dreams and can't sleep either. They meet each other, as always, halfway.
Gwaine shivered. The cold that had seeped into his bones earlier that day had yet to leave his body. No matter how many blankets he dumped onto himself he never quite managed to get rid of that freezing, nauseating sensation or the stench of mildew and perfume that always hung around him on nights like these, fuelled with nightmares. A weak flame flickered from the quickly melting candle, ever present in Gwaine’s nights, painting the room with long-faced spectres and distorted shadows. They didn’t jeer at him anymore, but now they merely stared, sombre and melancholic.
Gwaine couldn’t stand it anymore.
He crawled out of bed, huffing before turning the small mirror he had on his table towards the wall. He didn’t need a mirror to tell him he looked awful, thank you very much. Then, after getting dressed, he snuck out of his room and across the corridors. Moving from lamp to lamp as to not stay in the darkness for too long, he clumsily made his way towards the only person who wouldn not judge his panicked eyes and who would most probably be awake at this hour.
Lancelot’s door always creaked when it opened, and there was a floorboard just in front of it that was slightly loose. Gwaine skillfully avoided it and opened his friend’s door as slowly as he could. When he walked inside, after closing the door behind him, he found that the other man was not in his bed. He didn’t want to call out, so he waited with baited breath until…
A lamp flickered to life. Gwaine turned to face the light, purposefully ignoring how the tension bled from his body, to face his friend. Lancelot, despite his deep eyebags and pale face and panicked eyes, looked beautiful. Candlelight kissed his face the way a long-time lover would: soft, careful and flattering.
“Couldn’t sleep?” He rasped out.
“Cold,” Gwaine answered. “You?”
Lancelot merely hummed in response and placed the lamp on the bedside table, then opened his arms and waited for Gwaine to curl up around him. The other man didn’t hesitate to do just that.
“Nightmares,” Lancelot whispered into Gwaine’s hair.
Gwaine hummed and buried his head in the crook of Lancelot’s neck, holding him even tighter if at all possible.
“Come here, let’s go to bed.”
They both crawled inside the covers and lay on Lancelot’s bed, legs tangled together and with Lancelot’s head on Gwaine’s collarbone, like they had done countless times before.
“I felt it again today, when I fell into that lake," Gwaine began. "I wasn't able to move. It was like my stepfather-"
"The bastard," Lancelot supplied helpfully, making Gwaine chuckle.
"He was grabbing me again, holding me underwater and lifting my head and dunking it again and lifting and dunking and lifting and-"
"Gwaine," Lancelot called.
He hadn't noticed the tears rolling down his cheeks until Lancelot wiped them with his thumb. Long after they were gone, Lancelot's thumb was still there, still wiping away as much of Gwaine's hurt as he could.
"Thanks,"
"Well, we have each other, right? Get us out of our own minds when it gets a little too dark in there."
"Yeah… I suppose."
They stared at each other for a bit longer, letting the warm, dim light of the candle bathe their faces. The reflection of the flame flickered in Gwaine's eyes, but Lancelot's eyes sparkled all the same.
Gwaine wasn't sure if it was the adrenaline, the fears still coursing through his veins, the cold in his bones or the burst of affection that had overtaken him that made him kiss Lancelot. And yet, the fact remained that he did. It was nothing but a quick peck, but it seemed to shock Lancelot to the core; Gwaine scuttled back, the fear that had left his eyes from the moment the candle was lit had returned full-force. This time, however, it ended quicky. Lancelot grinned and dived back in and Gwaine melted.
Bright sparks in a pink haze took over Gwaine's mind and, just like that, the darkness residing inside Gwaine drained away: he was in peace, if only for a night..
"It took us some time," Lancelot smiled in the near darkness.
"It would have taken us longer still if I hadn't been so out of it."
"You mean you didn't want to-"
"Wait, no. I did, don't get me wrong! It's just… I'm shyer than it seems at first glance, I suppose. I care about you, you're my friend first and foremost, and nothing can or will change that, really."
Lancelot ran his fingers through Gwaine's hair to disguise how they were trembling. It didn't work.
"What is it, love? What happened?" Gwaine asked sweetly.
"I had the same dream again."
"Of you dying?"
Lancelot swallowed and exhaled a shaky breath.
"I came back this time, but I came back… wrong, I guess. I felt feral, I only saw red. But… but when I tried to gain control of myself and talk to you, because somehow I knew that you would bring me back on track, you just… you didn't know me, Gwaine. You smiled at me but it wasn't you, it was the smile you give other nobles and people who don't know you. And… I, I guess I didn't know how to cope with it."
"I wouldn't be able to cope with your 'noble' smile either, sunshine," Gwaine teased, but the underlying comfort in his voice overpowered it all.
"Excuse you! I'm not called the Noble Knight for no reason, you know?"
"You're a right bastard, Lancelot. And a chaotic one at that," Gwaine grinned and both mischief and the candle flame flickered in his eyes. "Perhaps that's why I'm so fond of you."
Lancelot chuckled and wrapped himself around Gwaine once again.
Hello all! This July I'll be hosting the first ever (!!!!) Gwaincelot Week!
TIMING: The event will run from Saturday, July 15th to Friday, July 21st. Prompts will be posted the day before it begins.
PROMPTS: Each day will have two one-word prompts, one trope prompt, and one dialogue prompt. You can choose to do all at once or ignore a few - it's completely up to you. The seventh day is creator's choice.
POSTING: PLEASE REMEMBER TO TAG YOUR POSTS WITH #gwaincelot-week and add them to the AO3 collection! This blog will function as an archive for all your beautiful submissions, but I need to be able to find them!
SUBMISSION DEADLINES: I'll continue reblogging posts through July and August, and the ao3 collection will remain open until mid-September. If you don't finish by then please reach out and I'll reopen the collection for you :)
If you have any questions, feel free to DM me, send an ask, or find me on Discord! I hope to see you soon!
