even in the lap of horrors

by litinthyheart

Summary:

With Gwaine and Percival missing for nearly two months, Elyan is nearing the end of his tether. Their reunion is not quite what he had anticipated.

Notes:

• For donttouchtheneednoggle.

At first, Elyan had barely removed his armour. If he’d succumbed to the desire to reach for his partners’ garments, strung up in the wardrobe like skeletons, then he’d be admitting to himself that he didn’t think Gwaine and Percival would be coming back. Because he’d never give them the satisfaction of knowing that he’d missed them with such a public method. Well, he’d never give Gwaine the satisfaction. But, after the fourth Monday of waking up in bed alone, Elyan had drenched himself in their ghosts. In the soft breeze, he’d been able to pretend that the fluttering of Percival’s shirt formed his strong heartbeat. He’d been able to believe that the sleeves of Gwaine’s old jacket were not conserving his own body heat, but transferring the warmth of Gwaine’s touch to Elyan’s skin as spectral hands glided up and down his arms. He’d sought out their breath in the hush of twilight, had fumbled for their fingers in the folds of the bedsheets when he had been half-asleep, had held the weapons they’d left behind to his lips in the hopes that, wherever they were, they would be able to feel his kiss pressing against the muscles that had once contorted the blades Elyan held.

    After five weeks, Elyan had crept beneath the sheets in Leon’s bed and had cried quietly into the other knight’s chest as Leon had tucked him close. It hadn’t been the same as having one arm draped over Gwaine as he reached for Percival’s hand, but it had been better than having nothing but a cold mattress and stiff pillows for company. And, when Arthur had left, Gwen had stolen into Leon’s chambers and the bed had started to feel a little more like the one Elyan was used to.

    And, by the time that Arthur left, Elyan had abandoned his armour completely. After all, what use was it when it couldn’t protect two of the people he loved most in the world? What use was the chainmail, the hardy metal, when it couldn’t prevent the blows to his heart that came from not knowing where Gwaine and Percival were? What use was a sword when it couldn’t work as a compass to direct him to them?

    Elyan had been spending less and less time in the castle, where the memories of his partners’ smiles cast shadows across the stones, and more and more time in the forge that had once been his home. He got on well enough with the apprentice, Drea, and although her uncertainty seemed perhaps a little exaggerated, Elyan had been more than happy to have the distraction her questions provided him with whenever he dropped by. Which was why, nearly seven weeks after Gwaine and Percival had left Camelot, Elyan had rolled up the sleeves of Gwaine’s jacket and was leaning over Drea as she poured molten metal into a mould with shaking hands, instead of being first on the scene when the missing knights returned. 

    ‘Yeah, that’s it,’ he said encouragingly, hand grazing Drea’s shoulder. ‘Nice and even, yeah?’

    Nodding, Drea blew strands of hair that had come loose out of her face and steadied her hands. She’d flourished in the four years since surviving the Dorocha attack on her village, particularly in the past few months as the blacksmith’s apprentice, and there was something in the steely determination of her mouth’s corners that reminded Elyan so much of Gwen. It had been Gwen who had suggested the apprenticeship in the first place after Drea had let slip that working in the kitchens was not something she particularly enjoyed. Still, she seemed to carry the ghosts of her family in the slight brush of her fingertips across Elyan’s skin when she thanked him, their memory in the curve of her lips as if she was about to shape a song with their names, and she dressed herself in the shadows of the time they should have had. Over recent weeks, Elyan had feared nothing more than being fitted for the same attire in the hues that Gwaine and Percival had made bleed over his heart.

    Drea set down the tongs holding the stone cup and peered at the filled mould, glancing over her shoulder at Elyan. ‘Do you think the Queen will like it?’

    Elyan grazed against her as he followed her gaze. ‘She’ll love it,’ he quietly said. ‘But you know she won’t be expecting anything for her birthday—’

    ‘I know,’ Drea quickly replied, turning to look at him. ‘But she’s been so kind to me, ever since I arrived here, and I just wanted to try and express how much I appreciate everything she’s done for me.’

    Elyan squeezed her shoulder gently. ‘I’m sure it’ll mean the world to her. It’s a beautiful brooch.’

    He could have said more, had intended to say more, but a lump in his throat prevented him from continuing. Because in his pocket was the brooch he’d made for Percival, the brooch that had been placed in his palm with the request to keep it safe until their return. Hanging heavy as a noose and entangled in the delicate pattern was Gwaine’s necklace. When Elyan walked, they collided with each other in his pocket and crafted a melody that was merely a tinny imitation of the richness of their voices. When Elyan walked, every step formed a scream that could easily be issuing from either Percival or Gwaine at that precise moment. For all Elyan knew, each step could be nothing but an echo of their lives.

    He could have studded his body with their jewellery, but somehow that would have made it worse. Because he’d made the brooch for Percival, who had always felt guilty at the thought of having any possessions that indicated even slight luxury when there were so many suffering. He’d added the delicate circle engraved with flames to Gwaine’s necklace to remind him that he could never fade in their eyes. Percival and Elyan hadn’t needed reminding of that; Gwaine never failed to transform their veins into liquor and set them on fire with his tentative touch. Elyan had never meant for him to wear the gifts he had presented his partners with himself. To wear them would be to wear their calcified hearts as a chain around his throat and, yes, they would fall against his own heart, but it would feel like little more than decoration, as well as a declaration of their absence. No, he preferred to keep them warm in his palm when he burrowed his hands in his pockets, preferred to nurture the breaths tangled in the metal with his touch, preferred to shield them from the world they were lost in.

    ‘Elyan?’

    Blinking, Elyan forced a smile. ‘Sorry. Distracted. Do you need me to help you with anything else?’

    Drea’s eyes were flickering over his face. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’

    I want to hold the two people I love in my arms again. ‘A cup of tea would be nice, thank you.’

    Elyan waited by the cooling brooch as Drea disappeared to make the tea. Absent-mindedly he spun the clumsy bracelet that Gwaine had forged for him, brushing against the supple leather of the one Percival had made. It was worn from years of fiddling in moments of anxiety, the ends frayed from where he’d twisted them during meetings when he had been seated away from both Gwaine and Percival. At least, if it was at the Round Table, then he could always see them both. Despite it being three years since Morgana had invaded, Elyan still found it difficult not to react with panic when he couldn’t see either of his partners – particularly Gwaine.

    It had been the trauma of that event that had brought them closer together; after all, it was difficult not to feel intimate with each other after hearing little but the other’s screams and grunts of pain. Elyan had refused to leave Gwaine’s side for a fortnight after their shared ordeal, with Percival supplying them both with food and a comforting embrace when the memories had been warped into nightmares. Elyan had wanted to keep Percival close by, too, if only to try and prevent him from beating himself up over leaving them both in Morgana’s clutches. Elyan’s hand jumped to the leather bracelet. If Gwaine was back in Morgana’s clutches and with Percival there too, if they had to watch each other be tortured…

    Shakily, Elyan fell into a chair, spinning the bracelet as his leg began to bounce frantically up and down. Morgana didn’t have the patience to torture them for seven weeks. One more fight would have killed Gwaine three years before, had Percival and Leon not rescued them both. And that had barely been a week. Which meant that, if Morgana did have Percival and Gwaine, then it might just be their corpses that she had now. If even that.

    ‘Elyan, are you alright?’ Drea was back with a tray of tea, face drawn with concern as she hovered in the doorway.

    Glancing down at his leg, Elyan tried to cease the movement by flattening his foot on the floor, but the instinct to keep it bouncing overwhelmed him. He decided to simply ignore it. ‘Yeah, I’m fine. Do you need help?’

    Drea smiled gently at him. ‘Tea is something I don’t need help with, but thank you.’ She set the tray carefully down on the side, pouring the liquid into a cup and holding it out to him. ‘You can talk to me, you know. I’m not a child any more.’

    A smile flickered on Elyan’s lips as he stared down into the depths of the cup, leg slowing slightly. ‘There’s nothing you can do. It’s alright.’

    Resting a hand on the leg that wasn’t bouncing, Drea watched him. ‘I can listen.’

    Elyan’s lips parted. He’d never really been one for talking about things, choosing instead to run away from everything that hurt him. But it had been difficult to run away from thoughts of Percival and Gwaine when thoughts of them had, up until seven weeks ago, always comforted him. He’d spoken to Gwen, tentatively at first, many times since returning to Camelot with her all those years before, but he’d been reluctant to apply more weight to her new load as Queen of Camelot. Though, in the past week, she’d been finding him in every corner he’d hidden himself away in and had sat silently beside him, holding him close. She knew he was struggling, knew that he was doubtless reflecting on the days that he had isolated himself from everyone he loved, knew that he would die before asking for her help. But, when it came to Gwen, he didn’t need to ask.

    ‘They’ll be okay, Elyan. They’re some of the best knights in all five kingdoms.’ Drea squeezed his leg. ‘And they’d be damned before leaving you.’

    Elyan flashed her a watery smile. ‘I don’t think they’d have a choice in whether or not they got to leave me.’ Gwen had spoken of choices on numerous occasions, but they both knew that capture eradicated any hope of one. Seven weeks… ‘It’s been so long. And no word. Nothing.’

    Biting her lip, Drea moved closer to him. ‘Is it alright if I give you a hug?’

    Elyan nodded tightly, closing his eyes as she wrapped her arms around him. When he had first met her, she had been barely more than bones. Now, though, he could feel her toned muscles contracting around him and he swallowed back tears. It was ridiculous that he should think of Percival when Drea was barely half his size, but the association with one of his partners seeped naturally from Drea’s arms as she tightened her embrace. Tea threatening to spill as he lifted his hands to grip her arms, Elyan steadied his breath and clung to her. He clung to the person who had endured so much loss at such a young age like she was a torch in the vast darkness, his hands trembling at the prospect of becoming just like her. He’d already lost his parents. At least he still had Gwen.

    But his heartbeat was screaming out his partners’ names, his veins contorting themselves to match the form that their touch had moulded, his thoughts shaped by their voices. Life without them for the past seven weeks had been like a starless night and Elyan, having spent most of his existence under the guidance of the constellations, was crumbling.

    Drea was comfortingly moving her hand up and down his back and he breathed in the overpowering scent of brimstone that clung to her hair, desperately trying not to think of Gwaine. After they’d all been knighted, Percival and Gwaine had helped Elyan move his belongings out of the forge and the Gwen’s home and he knew Gwaine still bore a subtle scar on his right palm from where he had gripped a poker, thinking it was one of Elyan’s weapons. At first, Percival and Elyan hadn’t realised just how bad the injury was, having had their backs turned, and Gwaine had simply dismissed the yelp as being due to stubbing his toe. If he allowed his mind to drift, Elyan could still recall the tight line of Gwaine’s mouth as Merlin and Percival treated the burn four hours later, could still feel the agony constricting his fingers around Elyan’s palm. For the first couple of weeks as knights, the three of them had been cloaked in the smell of smoke and brimstone and Elyan pulled sharply away from Drea, hastily wiping away his tears with the back of one hand.

    ‘Sorry.’

    Her hand fell to his leg again. ‘You don’t need to apologise. How many times did you find me crying in corners when I first arrived in Camelot and how many times did you try to comfort me?’

    ‘You were just a kid,’ sniffed Elyan. ‘I’m a knight of Camelot.’

    ‘Doesn’t mean that you can’t cry,’ Drea softly said. ‘And I’m sure the queen would say the same.’

    She was right there; Gwen would tell him to scream from the battlements if he needed to. Or, worse, her comforting words would crank open the floodgates even further and then Elyan would never be able to stop. Elyan sniffed again, keeping his gaze averted as he drank from his cup, and was about to open his mouth to thank her when Leon crashed through the door and directly into the beam overhead.

    ‘Fu—Ow.’ Hand on his forehead, his eyes found Elyan. ‘They’re back. Arthur’s back. With everyone.’

    The tea slipped through Elyan’s fingers and fell to the floor as he shot up, gripping the anvil for support as the blood rushed to his head. ‘Did you see them? Are they here? Where are they now?’

    ‘Gaius’s chambers, I think, they—’

    Elyan darted away before Leon could finish his sentence, heart in his mouth. The last time he had been to Gaius’s chambers after Morgana had been involved, he had been malnourished and Gwaine had been barely able to stand. The last time he had been there after Morgana had been involved, he hadn’t let go of Gwaine’s hand. The last time he had been there after Morgana had been involved, he’d kept his leg pressed against Percival’s as Merlin treated both his and Gwaine’s wounds. This time, Elyan just hoped that his partners would have that same warmth in their bodies when he saw them. If his last words to them would be don’t set anything on fire without me instead of some affirmation of his love for them…

    Bursting through the door, Elyan caught sight of Gaius leaning over a body with a tuft of blond hair and he started forward, unable to summon any words. As he approached, he realised the body was too small to be Percival’s and Gwen, at Arthur’s side, turned her head. The hand that wasn’t holding Arthur’s reached out for Elyan, who had started to spin the leather bracelet on his wrist again.

    Elyan’s mouth was dry. ‘Where are they?’

    ‘Your chambers. Merlin’s there, he thought it was better to check everything there as it was closer—’ She broke off, stroking his wrist with her thumb. ‘He’s okay, Elyan. He’s going to be okay.’

    Nodding fiercely, Elyan pulled away and flew to the chambers he shared with Gwaine and Percival. Each frantic step he took echoed with the same question, the words colliding with the stones; why ‘he’? Has one of them not made it back ali—

    There was a body stretched out on the bed, silent and unmoving, when Elyan entered.

    The adrenaline that had been powering his limbs failed him and he sank to the floor, clutching the doorframe. Merlin, dressed in strange attire, was leaning over the body’s chest, as if checking for signs of life, and the face was exposed. Gwaine’s hair was curled in tendrils across bruised skin, looking as peaceful as a water lily on the surface of a pond, and his eyes were closed. An involuntary sob escaped Elyan’s lips as he realised he and Percival would never again be able to study the sparks in Gwaine’s irises, so much like the sparks that came from forging, would never again be able to witness them succumbing to the slow infection of a smile, would never again be able to kiss the corners of his eyes when they were creased with happiness.

    Suppressing the sound with a hand against his mouth, Elyan forced himself to stand. At least they’d brought Gwaine back. At least he could say goodbye. At least he could see him one last time…

    Percival, who had been watching on anxiously, turned his head as Elyan stumbled into the table. It took him two strides to reach his partner and the tears on his face bled over Elyan’s head as they embraced one another. Elyan gripped him tightly, clinging to the cloak that had been thrown over his shoulders, and buried his face in Percival’s chest. His usual scent of honey was masked by blood and sweat and Elyan reeled back, wondering how much of it was Gwaine’s.

    Percival’s hands fumbled across his face in response, eyes flooded with concern. ‘Elyan, love, are you okay?’

    The name that had once come as easily as the breeze to the tip of Elyan’s tongue emerged with greater effort than loosing an arrow from a new bow. ‘Gwaine…’

    ‘Gwaine’s going to be okay, Merlin’s just making sure there isn’t any internal damage.’ Percival pressed a kiss to his forehead. ‘We’re both going to be okay. We’re home. We’re with you.’

    Elyan’s voice was scarcely a whisper as he clung to Percival again. ‘But he’s dead.’

    ‘Takes more than a couple of Saxons to make me kick the bucket, El,’ came a hoarse voice.

    Merlin gently hushed him, hands roaming the unobscured terrain of Gwaine’s torso. As Elyan moved towards the bed, fingers firmly entwined with Percival’s, he swallowed back fresh tears. It was as if Gwaine had been embroidered with agony in all of the colours of delicate gems, crafting him into a stained glass window that the sun wept against. Elyan reached out instinctively to trace the bruises on his skin, stopping short when he realised what damage he could do, and instead limply held Gwaine’s hand when the latter subtly moved it towards him. Percival let go for all of ten seconds to seize a chair from the table and set it down by the bed, nudging Elyan’s shoulder as he removed the cloak.

    ‘No, love, you sit,’ Elyan quietly said, turning his head. ‘Gods know what Morgana has subjected you both to. You need the rest.’

    Percival’s thumb skittered across Elyan’s cheekbone. ‘You look like you’re about to collapse, though.’

    ‘I’m fine, you sit.’

    ‘For fuck’s sake,’ whispered Gwaine, squeezing Elyan’s hand, ‘you haven’t had a problem with sitting on Percy before: both get on the chair.’ He hissed as Merlin pressed down on his ribs to ascertain the damage. ‘You’re alright, Merls, I know you didn’t mean it.’

    ‘I thought I told you not to speak too much,’ Merlin gently said.

    ‘Good luck with that one,’ interjected Percival as he sat down and pushed both him and the chair underneath Elyan. ‘Whole time we were in the mine, I couldn’t get a word in edgeways—’

    ‘Like you ever have a word to get in edgeways,’ Gwaine interrupted. ‘Barely two braincells to rub together, especially when I have no shirt on—’

    Elyan, surrendering to Percival’s body and leaning his head back against Percival’s shoulder, carefully traced circles in Gwaine’s palm. ‘So neither of you were tortured? She didn’t have the Nathair…?’ His throat closed up at the word and Percival kissed his temple, careful not to brush against the scars on Elyan’s neck as he did so. Fumbling for Percival’s hand, Elyan squeezed it appreciatively and cleared his throat. ‘She’s not the one who hurt you?’

    Gwaine shook his head and winced. ‘No, I thought she might, to begin with. Dragged me away from the others, spoke to me personally… You know, I think she might be a little bit obsessed with me.’

    ‘Don’t flatter yourself, Gwaine,’ Elyan warmly said, shadow of a smile creeping into the corner of his cheek.

    ‘I wouldn’t call Morgana’s attention flattery,’ murmured Merlin. Blinking, he pulled back. ‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to say that out loud.’ The tension in his shoulders marginally dissipated when Elyan’s smile unfurled like a bud in spring. ‘As far as I can tell, there isn’t any internal damage. But you need rest and plenty of water and food. If you start feeling any severe pain, come and find me, yeah?’

    His hand brushed against Gwaine’s shoulder and Gwaine slowly reached up to catch it. ‘Thank you, Merlin. Make sure you get some rest, too, yeah?’

    Merlin flashed him a brief smile and extracted his hand, closing the door quietly on the way out. Elyan waited a moment before moving to stand. ‘I’ll get you both something to eat.’

    Gwaine’s grip on his hand tightened. ‘Stay,’ he muttered, voice breaking. ‘Please. So we know it’s not a dream.’

    Sinking back against Percival, Elyan nodded. ‘Alright. I’ll stay. But you both need to eat—’

    ‘Too tired.’

    ‘Water, at least,’ Elyan said gently, fingers running along his partners’ veins.

    ‘But that involves you moving,’ whispered Percival in his ear.

    ‘And it involves you not dehydrating,’ Elyan countered. ‘There’s some on the table. I won’t leave the room, I promise.’

    Gingerly, he let go of their hands and slid from Percival’s lap, kissing Gwaine’s forehead before catching Percival’s lips with his own. He felt his face become cloaked in Percival’s hands and gave in to the security that his fingers provided. It had been too long, far too long, and when the tears gathered in the corners of his eyes this time, they were defined by relief. Elyan could recall the swell of Percival’s muscles and the lyre of his lips with greater ease than the manoeuvres he’d refined over years of training. His hands didn’t need to be trained to remember how to handle Percival. His heart knew the method well enough.

    Percival was the same height as Elyan when sat down and Elyan addressed him with a question before he could make some remark. ‘Are you hurt at all?’

    ‘No, I’m fine. Just missed you.’

    Elyan turned to Gwaine. ‘Is he hurt at all?’

    Gwaine, who was trying to prop himself up against the pillows, grunted. ‘Don’t think so. Saxons obviously thought he was too pretty to beat to a pulp for nothing.’

    ‘Well,’ said Elyan fondly, ‘he’s got to have something going for him.’

    Percival frowned. ‘I thought you said you were getting water.’

    Smiling, Elyan retrieved the jug and two cups from the table, pouring out the water and handing one cup to Percival. As he turned to Gwaine, he noticed a flash of pain that Gwaine tried to hastily conceal. ‘Where does it hurt?’ he softly asked.

    ‘It’s fine, El.’

    Elyan perched on the edge of the bed. ‘How bad is it?’

    With a faint smile, Gwaine rested his hand on Elyan’s leg. ‘It’s not too bad. About the same level as Percival sitting on you as a dead weight.’

    Putting down the jug and tucking back Gwaine’s hair, Elyan bit his lip. ‘Are you sure?’

    ‘I’m sure.’

    It was when Elyan handed him the cup that he saw the guarded expression behind Gwaine’s eyes. It was the same expression that he himself had worn, years before, when Percival had tried to understand what had happened with Morgana. When he spoke, his voice was soft. ‘It’s not physical pain, is it?’

    Ever so slightly, Gwaine’s head twitched. Hand falling to Gwaine’s hair again – it had been weeks since he’d been able to tangle his fingers in it and Elyan didn’t care that it was coarse beneath his touch – Elyan stroked it carefully. He found the spot that his hand slotted naturally into, against the bump of bone behind Gwaine’s ear, and Gwaine’s eyes closed as he weakly lifted his hand to grip Elyan’s arm. Percival’s approach, after downing the water, was uncertain, as if apprehensive to intrude on the trauma Gwaine was desperately trying not to relive. Any apprehension, though, was swiftly dispelled when Gwaine pressed his leg against Percival’s as the latter sat on his other side.

    ‘What did you feel?’ Percival lowly asked.

    He had long since learnt that there was no use in asking Elyan or Gwaine what had happened; that would only result in a factual description of events that were completely devoid of any emotion. No, he would be able to gauge what had happened through their fear, their pain, and it was a way of understanding just a fraction of what they’d been through. Elyan, sitting across from him with Gwaine between them, watched him carefully. Over the past three years, Gwaine had improved when it came to letting them both know he was struggling, but clearly being in an environment that had reminded him so much of that cell and everything surrounding it had caused him to close in on himself again. Elyan extended a leg to rest his foot against Percival’s back, trying to wordlessly reassure him that it wasn’t his fault for not noticing what had been bubbling beneath the surface in the mines. Gwaine could be a remarkable actor at times.

    When Elyan turned back to Gwaine, the injured knight was crying. His tears were silent, as if the world had wearied him enough, and his hands were shaking around the cup and Elyan’s wrist. Elyan caught the tears with his thumb, touch stumbling across his face. ‘Hey, hey, love, you’re alright. You’re alright. It’s okay. We’re here, you can talk to us.’

    As Gwaine nodded between Elyan’s hands, Percival edged closer and placed a tentative hand on Gwaine’s shoulder. Gwaine fell automatically into him and Elyan removed his hands to snatch the cup before it slipped through Gwaine’s fingers. After turning momentarily to set the vessel down on the beside table, Elyan found Gwaine quietly sobbing into Percival’s chest and shrugged off the jacket. He knew how Gwaine preferred to feel bare skin beneath his fingers when he was in emotional distress to make it easier to find a calmer pulse. Resting his head against Percival’s unoccupied shoulder, Elyan hitched up his trousers and relaxed his half-drawn knees against Gwaine’s body cautiously. When Gwaine didn’t wince, he let them relax a little more and held out his hand. Gwaine, sensing the movement, fumbled for his fingers with closed eyes, and Elyan began to sketch sweeping lines across his palm.

    ‘Take your time, love,’ he whispered. ‘We know it can be overwhelming.’

    As heartbreaking as it was to see Gwaine in such a state, Elyan was relieved that he was within reach of his and Percival’s fingers. In an ideal world, it would have all been giddy grins and rich laughter after seven weeks apart but, in an ideal world, Percival and Gwaine wouldn’t have been away from Elyan for seven weeks in the first place. Elyan used his other hand to comfortingly rub Gwaine’s leg, careful to be gentle just in case he aggravated any injuries. When Gwaine had broken down in front of them for the first time, on the morning of Gwen’s coronation, the way he’d curled in on himself had led Elyan to believe that the last thing he’d wanted was to be touched. It had only been when he’d outstretched a quivering hand in Elyan’s direction that the need for physical contact had become painfully clear. After years of struggling alone, the temptation to cling to another human being had proven too much and Gwaine had surrendered to it as he had surrendered to Elyan’s arms. His smile during the coronation, though genuine, had been a little too wide in comparison to his usual one.

    But then that was Gwaine; often the harder he laughed, the greater his pain was.

    When Elyan glanced towards Percival, he could see the self-reproach dripping across his face like a hurried watercolour painting. Softly, he kissed Percival’s shoulder, drawing the larger knight’s eyes to him. Percival prided himself in being able to protect his partners from most potential threats with nothing but his bare hands and to have missed a pain that he could have shielded Gwaine from was evidently taking its toll. But Elyan knew that Gwaine would have rather endured every method of torture than confess his fear to Percival in an enemy’s nest. And Elyan also knew that Gwaine had known Percival would tear the place apart if he thought it had harmed Gwaine. And Percival had very little concern for his own safety when wreaking vengeful destruction. No, Elyan and Gwaine both knew that it was best to allow their souls to scream in silence whilst they were still in the situation and crumble afterwards.

    ‘Percival. Stop.’ Elyan kissed him again. ‘Stop. We’re all here, that’s all that matters.’

    Opening his eyes slowly, Gwaine looked at them both. ‘Not your fault, Perce,’ he whispered, trying to control his sobs. ‘Didn’t know.’

    ‘I should have known. We’ve been together long enough.’ Percival’s face drained of all colour. ‘Bread. It was all bread. The rations.’

    Elyan closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Gwaine’s shoulders were shaking, his face buried in Percival’s chest. It had only been in the last year that Gwaine had been able to stomach bread without all of the associations from Morgana’s invasion rising up in the back of his throat. He hadn’t touched it for the two years between, which had made meal times somewhat more difficult, but Percival and Elyan had come up with many creative substitutes for them all. Elyan hadn’t complained about the absence of bread in their diet; despite not having eaten any of the stuff and instead giving it to Gwaine and Gaius, the memories resurfaced easily like reflections in a lake at the sight of a fresh loaf’s curve. But it had been a relief when Gwaine had finally asked if Percival might be able to bring some from the kitchens when the three of them had been preparing for a picnic date. It had meant that Gwaine was healing.

    ‘All of the rations?’ Elyan asked, voice trembling.

    ‘There were some days where we had oat mixture or apples – how Morgana got them in the tundra out there, I don’t know – but it’s been bread for the past fortnight, if not longer…’ Percival trailed off, looking down at Gwaine. ‘But you ate it, right?’

    The shake of Gwaine’s head was barely perceptible. ‘Tried, first time. Felt like it stuck in my throat. Threw up, gave it to some of the others. Said I’d managed to sneak extra from the Saxons.’ He drew a deep breath and opened his eyes again, gaze silently imploring Elyan to understand. ‘I was fine until then. It was fine. But when I held that in my hands…’ Gwaine shook his head, taking another deep breath. ‘I was just waiting for the catch. I was waiting for them to grab Perce and hold a knife to his throat and not stop working until I collapsed. It sounds so stupid—’

    ‘It’s not stupid,’ Elyan sharply said. Catching Gwaine’s hastily disguised flinch, he gently squeezed his hand. ‘I didn’t mean to snap, love, I’m sorry.’ He pressed his lips to the skin between Gwaine’s thumb and index finger. ‘What you feel is never stupid. Never. Okay?’

    Gwaine nodded slowly. ‘They didn’t take Perce, it was fine, but I couldn’t… I just couldn’t. Every time I tried, all I could see was you after, after—’

    Elyan’s hand jumped to the scars on his neck as Percival dropped a kiss to the top of Gwaine’s head, gently soothing him as he desperately tried to quell his sobs. He was still tightly holding Elyan’s hand and, when Elyan retracted the one that had been at his own throat, he covered Gwaine’s fingers with his. His eyes fell to Gwaine’s body where fresh marks cloaked old scars and he pulled away from Percival’s shoulder, edging closer to Gwaine.

    Merlin had said there had been no internal damage, but Elyan knew there was. Just not in Gwaine’s body. Because he had been beaten in the same places that he had been three years before, in the places that he hadn’t let Elyan and Percival – anyone at all but Merlin, and that had been reluctantly allowed – touch for weeks. He had been beaten in the places that had formed caverns of his greatest fears, in the places he had sacrificed to keep Elyan alive. It was, in some ways, worse than what Elyan had feared, night after night alone with the cold gaze of the ceiling being the only face beside him. Gwaine had been making progress – they had all finally been making progress, secure in the knowledge that no imminent threat was upon them – but there was a chance that he would slip back into habits he’d formed in the months after Morgana’s invasion.

    ‘Did they find out you weren’t eating the bread and hurt you because of that?’ whispered Elyan.

    Shaking his head, Gwaine fought to regain his breath.

    ‘You don’t have to answer immediately, Gwaine, it’s alright,’ Percival softly said. ‘Just breathe with me, okay? Nice and slow, love, nice and slow.’

    Elyan pressed Gwaine’s hand to his lips, breathing gently onto his skin, as Gwaine tried to mimic the slow rise and fall of Percival’s chest. The tears were still falling from his eyes but it no longer sounded like he was gasping for air and, ever so carefully, he opened his eyes and raised his head. And that was when Elyan took the decision to slide into Percival’s lap, dropping Gwaine’s hand to delicately take Gwaine’s face between his own hands. Gwaine pushed his face into Elyan’s palm, stiffly straightening out his legs to hook them loosely around Elyan’s hips. Percival’s arm was still around him. That had been how they’d managed to draw Gwaine out of his own head in the early days – by stitching their souls seamlessly into his veins through the intimacy of their touch – and Gwaine responded to the movement reflexively, resting his forehead against Elyan’s and gripping Percival’s calf.

    ‘Percival, if we’re getting too heavy for you, say.’ Elyan kept his eyes fixed on Gwaine as he spoke. ‘I know you say you’re fine, but discovering injuries from the pressure from our weight is not the best method.’

    ‘You’re both lighter than you should be, which is not fine, but in this situation it is fine.’ Percival paused and gently nosed Elyan’s head with his nose. ‘Have you been eating properly, love?’

    Elyan kept his eyes on Gwaine. ‘I was apart from you for nearly two months, with no way of knowing if you were safe. I think that would understandably put you on edge.’

    ‘Sorry,’ Gwaine whispered.

    ‘As delighted as I am to have an apology from you after years of denying me one in recompense for broken objects, it’s not necessary, Gwaine. It wasn’t your fault that you were captured,’ Elyan said. ‘I’m sure, given the choice, you would not have endured all that you have.’

    ‘Given the choice, we would not have made you endure all that you have,’ murmured Gwaine, leaning into him.

    Kissing Gwaine always felt clumsy, as if neither of them were entirely sure how they should fit together, but Elyan didn’t mind it. Their lips met ungracefully, noses catching on the other, and Elyan pulled away after several short moments, before the blood in Gwaine’s mouth transferred to his. He was used to Gwaine tasting of sharp metal and wanted nothing more than to kiss away his pain, but Elyan knew it would prove too much. He knew that if he tasted the blood that had been drawn forcibly from Gwaine then he would then want nothing more than to storm Ismere.

    They’d all been broken in so many places, the three of them, torn to scraps and sewn back together to form a new tapestry that was reinforced with crude stitches. The beauty that had once been the centre of the piece had been warped into the background of thorns, but it shone through when it caught the sun. With a fragile touch, Elyan moved his hands down Gwaine’s body and applied a gentle pressure as an offer. Gwaine accepted it without hesitation, collapsing against Elyan’s chest. They fell sideways together, resting their bodies against Percival, who leaned against the headboard.

    ‘You’re both safe now,’ Elyan whispered. ‘I won’t let anyone hurt either of you again.’

    ‘You’re probably half the size of most of the Saxons,’ Gwaine faintly said, the humour in his voice more forced than a smile during an execution.

    ‘Doesn’t mean I can’t take them on. Go for the kneecaps.’ There was a weak laugh from Gwaine and Elyan could feel Percival’s smile against his head. ‘I should have been there with you both.’

    ‘I’m glad you weren’t.’ Gwaine raised his head. ‘Not because I didn’t miss you, of course I did, but if you’d been within Morgana’s reach like that as well as Percival…’ As his voice cracked, he swallowed. ‘I wasn’t beaten up because of the bread. They didn’t notice. I saw something, when we were down there, and went to investigate. Two Saxons found me, I tried to swing at them, and then they attacked. There was nowhere to run; we were miles underground and if I escaped them then I’d just be confronted with more and—’ Gwaine’s breaths were becoming shorter and shorter as he choked out: ‘Window. Open. Please.’

    Immediately responding, Elyan scrambled from his partners’ arms and opened every window in the room, encouraging a hearty breeze to glide into the enclosed space. He retrieved a stack of blankets from the bottom of the wardrobe and tossed all but one on the floor. Brushing back Gwaine’s hair, he perched on the edge of the bed. ‘Did you want to go to the window?’

    Trying to match his breaths to Percival’s again, Gwaine nodded.

    ‘Alright. I’m going to put a blanket around your shoulders – the one you always try to steal from me and I’m only giving it to you temporarily because you’re in distress, so don’t think it’s yours now – and we can both help you to the window. It rained yesterday but it’s been dry today so, unless you attract sickness, you shouldn’t catch a chill. Can I put the blanket around you?’

    ‘Yes.’

    Elyan draped it over Gwaine’s shoulders, drawing the edges over his bare chest, and held it in place until Gwaine’s hand emerged from beneath the blanket to secure it. As Elyan’s gaze lingered, he could just make out the violent pulsating of a vein on Gwaine’s wrist. His fingers found it, shielding it from the world. ‘It’s alright, love. It’s alright.’

    As he drew his hand away, Elyan slid from the bed and watched as Percival scooped their partner up and carried him cautiously towards one of the windows. Despite the ease with which he could do it, Percival rarely deigned to carry either Gwaine or Elyan and Gwaine, to put his significant others’ minds somewhat at ease, started to swing his legs and plaster a grin on his face. It fooled Elyan for all of twenty seconds before a grimace flashed across Gwaine’s face.

    He hastily masked it and went to start swinging his legs again as they approached the window, but Elyan gently touched his ankle. ‘It’s us, Gwaine. You don’t have to pretend you’re okay. Don’t put yourself through unnecessary pain just to please us.’

    ‘We’re not Arthur,’ added Percival.

    Faintly smiling, Gwaine gripped the windowsill as Percival set him down, keeping the blanket secured by pinning it against the stone. In the slight breath of the wind, Gwaine’s hair stirred and he closed his eyes, one hand held out behind him. Elyan entwined his fingers with Gwaine’s as Percival remained close, just in case Gwaine’s legs gave out, and turned his head to the side.

    Percival was watching Gwaine intently, mouth tight at the corners, and Elyan extended his other hand to take Percival’s. The answer of his fingertips was warm, dropping silent syllables across Elyan’s palm, and he tore his eyes away from Gwaine to smile gently at him. There were shadows beneath his eyes, stretched taut like a nocturnal tapestry, and Elyan would have reached up to try and stroke them away, had it not meant that he would have to let go of Percival’s hand. As much as his chest still felt like it was contained within a bubble whenever he glanced at Gwaine, it was a relief to have both of his partners within physical reach again. And he knew, knew by the haunted hue of Percival’s irises, that if he had been fine in the mines then he would no longer be fine. Not when Gwaine had been suffering right in front of him and he hadn’t noticed. Not when Gwaine could have died and Percival would have been none the wiser.

    But, for the moment, Elyan held his hand – held both their hands – and ran his thumb up and down their wrists. There had been a small part of him, a part that was not much bigger than an unintentionally broken link in Percival’s chainmail, that had feared he would never hold them again. Not with their pulses thrumming beneath his fingertips, at least.

    When Percival pressed his arm against Elyan’s body, Elyan sank a little further into him and watched the ripple of Gwaine’s hair as it danced in the breeze like a lake in spring. The blanket had slipped from Gwaine’s shoulders and revealed a myriad of injuries in various states of healing, gaping like holes in unravelling yarn, that had been concealed by the sheets when Gwaine had been lying down. Not letting go of Percival’s hand, Elyan grazed the marks with the back of his fingers and whispered an apology as Gwaine violently flinched away. He turned his head and flashed Elyan a faint smile of reassurance, squeezing his hand.

    ‘It’s alright, El, I’ve had worse.’

    I know, Elyan wanted to breathe back. I’ve seen you minutes after enduring worse physically, when you’ve been tossed to the floor like ruined bread and have trembled in my arms. But though the marks would fade, Elyan knew the memories would take longer to. He knew that Gwaine would wake, night after night, with his body coated in a cold sweat, knew he would grasp for Elyan’s and Percival’s limbs like weapons in an overwhelming conflict, knew he would hide himself away from the others until he could control his own breathing once again.

    Elyan raised their linked hands to touch Gwaine’s face as Percival planted his free hand between Gwaine’s shoulder blades. ‘It’s not something to boast about, Gwaine.’

    ‘Have to have something to boast about, don’t I?’

    Percival fixed him with a severe look. ‘Gwaine.’

    ‘You’ve got your muscles, El has his brains, and I’ve got an impressive pain threshold. Helps that everyone apparently wants to beat the crap out of me.’ His voice trembled slightly but he painted a smile on his face. ‘I’m okay.’

    ‘No, sweetheart, you’re not,’ whispered Elyan, stroking his face with the back of his fingers.

    ‘I can’t afford to not be okay,’ Gwaine replied softly, voice cracking. ‘Morgana was looking for something to destroy Arthur back there. It can’t have been for any other purpose. Camelot is threatened and Arthur needs us—’

    ‘And you need to rest, love,’ interrupted Elyan. ‘Morgana is not descending on us at this exact moment.’

    ‘You could have died out there,’ Percival added gently, hand moving in circles.

    ‘I had rest in the caves. Was knocked unconscious.’

    ‘That’s not rest. That’s a forced systematic shutdown,’ Elyan said. ‘Don’t you dare say “same difference”,’ he fiercely added.

    ‘Gwaine,’ Percival softly cut in, ‘if you didn’t have any bread, have you eaten anything in the past fortnight?’

    Gwaine looked away.

    Dropping his partners’ hands like they were hot coals, Elyan strode towards the door and wrenched it open. At a faint call, he turned his head. ‘I know I said I wouldn’t leave the room, but you need to eat.’ His voice lowered. ‘You need to eat.’

    He backed out of the door before either of his partners had the opportunity to convince him to stay. The corridors were retching with people preparing courtiers and knights for dinner and Elyan swerved past a number of servants on his way to the kitchens, careful to avoid knocking into them. Despite rarely accompanying Percival and Gwaine on their various escapades to rob the kitchens blind, he had been the one to draw up the maps of the place and therefore knew precisely where he would find what he was looking for. As he entered, he seized a wad of cloth and bundled cheese and several apples in it, keeping his gaze averted from the bread and instead selecting a handful of dumplings.

    Elyan then shoved the bundle up Percival’s shirt and made a hasty exit. After years of making himself invisible to avoid potential threats, he blended seamlessly into the surroundings and paid little mind to where he was going, stopping for a moment in an alcove to catch his breath. As his arm pinned the bundle of goods to his abdomen, Elyan spun the old leather bracelet around his wrist, counting slowly to ten. He hated being unable to solve problems for his partners, hated being rendered helpless in the face of their struggles, hated how nothing he did could ever quite chase away the fear in their soft glances. It had been naive of him to believe that seeing them again would make everything dissipate. When he had touched them both, he had been subtly searching for any discreet marks Morgana may have left on them. But Elyan had found no puncture wounds.

    He would have liked to think that Percival and Gwaine would have told him if they’d been subjected to the Nathair, but he knew they would rather suffer the nightmares and stuff a pillow in their mouths than confess to Elyan. Not after Elyan had been unable to wear anything that had brushed against his throat for six months. Not after finding him in the middle of a panic attack after trying to fasten his gambeson and feeling it constricting around his neck. Not after the way he had tensed up at any touch, no matter how soft, above his chest. He’d spent the first six months curled up at the bottom of the bed – the first three in the one Gwaine hadn’t let him leave and the latter three in the one they’d shared with Percival – to avoid all inadvertent neck contact, allowing his legs to entangle themselves with Gwaine’s and Percival’s, but no more of him than that. They’d both been patient with him, hadn’t pressured him to succumb to their touch until he had been ready, and when Arthur had landed a blow to Elyan’s neck in one training session, they had both been there for him. Percival had enfolded him in his arms after Elyan had reeled back from Arthur and Gwaine had immediately assumed Elyan’s position with two swords in his hands and his mouth set in a grim line. It had been accidental, of course, but that hadn’t stopped Gwaine from battling Arthur like he had been Morgana herself, causing the king to come away with several nicks to his cheek.

    When Gwaine had returned to Elyan and Percival, his trembling anger had given way to a tentative tenderness that he only expressed around the two of them and the three of them had remained outside until Elyan had felt as if he could move independently. They’d bumped into Gwen, who had been coming to find them after speaking with Leon, and had spent the evening with her. Elyan couldn’t recall much of it; only the familiar feeling of his sister’s arms around him as Gwaine and Percival played cards by candlelight.

    No, Gwaine and Percival would never let the word ‘Nathair’ pass their lips. Not in Elyan’s presence.

    Pushing himself away from the wall, Elyan took a deep breath and continued back to his chambers, gently pushing open the door. Gwaine had moved away from the window – or had been moved away from the window – and was propped up against the headboard of the bed, dressed in a loose shirt and with the blanket back around him, as Percival held a cup of water to his mouth. A fire had been lit to combat the evening that was drawing in and Elyan closed the door behind him, unfolding the bundle on the table. He kept his head turned away from his partners, avoiding the sight of Gwaine being helped to drink, and slowly spread everything out across the surface.

    ‘El.’

    His name, though whispered, rang stronger than a war cry in his ears and Elyan’s head snapped towards the bed, where Gwaine was looking at him. ‘Yeah?’

    ‘I’m sorry. For causing you both so much trouble.’

    The way Gwaine spoke, it sounded as if he had intruded on a pre-established relationship between Elyan and Percival, not as if it had been Percival encasing both of them after several weeks of cautious intimacy. The way Gwaine spoke, it sounded as if he was a burden to them both, rather than the blessing that his existence was. The way Gwaine spoke…

    ‘Gwaine, it’s not your fault,’ Elyan said, reaching for a knife on the other side of the table and beginning to core the apples he’d brought. ‘Your existence is not your fault, nor is what happens in it at the hands of Morgana. I know we blame you sometimes for the scrapes you get into, but this is not one of them.’

    ‘I was slacking off,’ began Gwaine.

    ‘We shouldn’t have been working there in the first place,’ Percival cut in.

    Elyan, having cored the apples, set down the knife and wandered over to a chest by the window, withdrawing a stack of plates, cutlery, and a lidded tin dish. When it had become apparent that Gwaine had a habit of bringing food back in a drunken state and consuming it in the safety of his own chambers, Elyan and Percival had taken the decision to sneak out a small amount of tableware from the kitchens. Well, Elyan had taken the decision after finding fragments of pickled eggs in the bedsheets. Percival had done the pilfering. Taking off the lid of the dish as he lowered the stack onto the table, Elyan placed the apples carefully in the dish and replaced the lid before carrying the whole thing over to the fire and laying it to rest in the growing embers.

    ‘Are you making baked apples?’ Gwaine quietly asked. At Elyan’s soft smile and nod, he frowned slightly, lying against Percival’s chest. ‘I thought you only did that on special occasions.’

    Having you both back with me is a special occasion. ‘Well, I think an exception can be made this time, seeing as it’ll make you eat,’ Elyan said, drawing near to the bed to stroke Gwaine’s hair. ‘Then you can sleep,’ he added, kissing his hairline.

    ‘I’m not all that hungry,’ Gwaine weakly said.

    ‘Probably because you haven’t eaten for a fortnight,’ Percival sharply replied, softening the words with his thumb rubbing along the curve where Gwaine’s neck met his shoulder.

    Elyan’s hand fell to his cheek. ‘We’re not saying you have to eat everything, just something. And then you can rest. And we can get Merlin to check on you again in the morning and you can eat again.’ He stroked Gwaine’s skin tenderly. ‘Yeah?’

    Gwaine’s head twitched with a movement that largely resembled a nod. Kissing his hairline again, Elyan pulled away and returned to the table, spearing several small blocks of cheese on two forks and carrying them over to the fire. He rotated the cutlery in his hand slowly, holding them just above the flames but close enough for the cheese to begin to soften. Keeping one hand beneath the forks in case it all started to fall apart, Elyan took them over to his partners and handed one to Percival. As he perched beside Gwaine, the injured knight’s hand jumped towards the remaining fork to catch strings of cheese hanging down in his palm and Elyan smiled appreciatively. He kept his grip on the end of the fork and Gwaine’s fingers brushed against his as they guided it slowly towards Gwaine’s mouth.

    If there was any discomfort caused by the half-melted cheese sticking to the inside of Gwaine’s mouth, he didn’t show it. He seemed hesitant to get it down, pupils momentarily dilating with panic as he held Elyan’s gaze, and Elyan stroked the side of his face encouragingly with his thumb. When Gwaine had quite clearly swallowed, Percival dropped a kiss on top of his head.

    ‘Do you want more?’ asked Elyan softly.

    Gwaine’s tone was tremulous. ‘I’m not sure.’

    Brushing back his hair again – Elyan had missed the feeling of entangling himself in strands of Gwaine’s soul when he touched his hair – Elyan kissed him between the eyebrows. ‘I’ll give you another piece. If it’s too much, that’s alright. Percy, do you want your cheese raw or cooked this time?’

    ‘I prefer it raw,’ Percival replied, one hand brushing over Elyan’s wrist. ‘Make sure you have some, too, love. You were lighter than I remember and don’t think I noticed you trying to explain away my question of whether you’d been eating properly earlier.’

    Elyan smiled softly at him. ‘I’ll have some raw cheese, too, then.’

    Standing, he gave Gwaine another kiss and returned to the table, tossing a chunk of cheese to Percival and throwing a piece in his own mouth. Spearing another piece on a fork, Elyan approached the fire again. He knew if he asked Gwaine if he wanted the cheese cooked then Gwaine, not wanting to feel like he was inconveniencing Elyan further, would tell Elyan not to worry. Which was why Elyan wasn’t giving him the choice; he knew perhaps better than anyone that after weeks of not eating, tough and solid food would be difficult to stomach. Particularly when what had made it so difficult to eat in the first place had been tough and solid food.

    When Elyan perched on the bed again, Gwaine had started to drift off with his head falling onto Percival’s shoulder. Strands of his hair were hanging loose in front of his face and the grip his fingers had had on the blanket had slipped slightly. His chest was rhythmically rising and falling at a steady pace but Elyan could see by the infrequent flickering of his eyelids that he wasn’t out for the count just yet.

    ‘Gwaine, love, wake up,’ he whispered tenderly, tucking back his partner’s hair. ‘Just eat a little more, if you can, then you can sleep. I know you’re tired, sweetheart, I know, but you’ll miss the baked apples.’

    That stirred him. Lifting his head with greater effort than lifting lead, Gwaine wearily opened his eyes and could barely raise his hands to take the fork between his fingers. Elyan held it for him, jolting it closer as Gwaine pushed his head forward, and Percival kept Gwaine’s hair away from his mouth to prevent it becoming caught in the cheese. After he’d eaten it, Gwaine fell back against Percival and Elyan brushed his fingertips against Gwaine’s cheek with a soft ‘well done’ before standing to rescue the dish of apples from the embers of the fire. Someone who had not been accustomed to handling incredibly hot objects – and Elyan didn’t just mean handling Gwaine and Percival – would have allowed the dish to cool slightly. But Elyan had grown up handling searing items that probably should have been kept out of his reach and, besides, he feared that Gwaine would fall asleep again before getting some serious sustenance in him.

    Scooping up an apple with a spoon after removing the lid, Elyan deposited it onto the plate and brought it over to Gwaine, this time sitting in front of him with crossed legs. ‘Do you need help with this?’

    ‘I should be alright,’ murmured Gwaine, reaching for the plate and spoon. The spoon slipped through his trembling fingers and he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. ‘I’m sorry. I’m useless.’

    ‘You’re not useless,’ Elyan said. ‘You’re hurt. There’s a difference.’ He tucked Gwaine’s hair back. ‘Your hair’s gotten longer,’ he observed.

    ‘I should probably wash it.’ Gwaine opened his eyes. ‘I should probably wash me.’

    ‘That can wait until tomorrow,’ Percival told him, running his hand up and down Gwaine’s upper arm.

    Nodding in agreement, Elyan picked up the spoon and pushed it into the apple. ‘Just tell me when you’ve had enough, love.’

    ‘El, I can do that. You need to eat more too.’

    Elyan’s gaze flickered towards Percival. ‘As do you.’

    ‘I’ve probably had more to eat in the last two weeks than the pair of you put together.’

    Gwaine snorted softly. ‘It’s an apple, Perce, not a pear.’

    Percival stared down at him. ‘That was an awful pun, Gwaine, even by your standards.’ He motioned for Elyan to pass him the plate. ‘Come on, love.’

    Knowing full well that Percival had ways of persuading him to hand over the plate, Elyan decided to save time and gave it to him. When at the table once again, he jumped up and took several dumplings, swinging his legs as he ate. At least Gwaine was responding easily to the baked apples.

    Even before Gwaine and Percival had left, the three of them had rarely eaten alone for months. Arthur had insisted on his knights eating together – though of course he rarely made an appearance but it meant that Gwen didn’t eat alone, so Elyan couldn’t begrudge the King of Camelot completely – to promote a sense of unity or some other reason that Elyan hadn’t quite been paying attention to. He’d been far too busy kicking Gwaine under the table. But there was a comfort in it being only their presence in the room, without the intrusion of other people’s breath on their conversation, and they would be able to serenade one another with their fingertips without receiving any curious glances. Of course, Elyan doubted any of them were in the mood for the melody of a gentle touch stumbling across bare skin at that moment, but at least they had peace. At least they had quiet, after weeks of gut-wrenching silent screams. And it would be a short while yet before Gwaine would be expected in the knights’ mess. Which meant it would be a short while before Elyan and Percival would be unable to wriggle out of it as well. Which meant Gwaine and Percival wouldn’t have to leave Elyan’s sight for a little while longer.

    Having eaten half of his apple, Gwaine weakly pushed away the plate and Percival, taking the hint, finished it off, setting the plate down on the chest beside the bed. Gwaine pulled himself away from Percival and slowly lifted his legs to slide them beneath the sheets. He kept the blanket around his shoulders as his torso followed his legs and his hair was crushed against the pillow, eyes already closing. Elyan swallowed the last dumpling and hesitated before removing his shirt. If Gwaine wanted them in bed with him, then he’d want as much of them in bed with him as possible.

    ‘Gwaine, sweetheart, what do you want?’ he asked softly.

    ‘Both of you,’ came the thick reply.

    ‘And do you want the windows open or closed? Do you want the fire putting out?’

    ‘I want you to stop fretting and lie next to me.’

    There was a gentle laugh from Percival, who swiftly battled with the sheets. Elyan hesitated again and it wasn’t until Gwaine heavily drew back the corners that he moved. He seemed so fragile, more fragile than he had been when Elyan had first laid eyes on him in the shadows of Morgana’s first invasion of Camelot, when the moonlight had glanced off the sword Elyan had been holding and had caused silver wounds to split open across Gwaine’s face. Elyan feared that if he turned over in the night, one slight unintended brush of his hand could cause Gwaine to crumble to rubble. But the hand that gripped his when he crawled into bed was strong, stronger than the beating of his own heart.

    As Elyan reached over Gwaine’s head with one arm to lay his fingers to rest in Percival’s cropped hair, Gwaine pushed his face into Elyan’s chest. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he murmured.

    Elyan managed to get out barely two sentences before his throat threatened to close up. ‘Missed you too. Both of you.’

    On the other side of Gwaine, Percival reiterated the statement. Elyan kept his eyes open as his partners drifted off, once again draped in the armour of their touch and their breath. He’d wanted nothing more for nearly two months and to finally have it, regardless of the state they were all in, put him more at ease than a declaration of peace. Pressing himself closer to Gwaine, Elyan allowed the heat from his body to transfer to Gwaine’s weakened limbs, for his heartbeat to reach Percival through the flimsy shield of the skin over his wrist against Percival’s ear. Two of the people he loved most were home. And the world was a little easier to face again.

    Despite not closing his eyes once, Elyan witnessed the dawn drip down his partners’ cheekbones feeling more well-rested than he had in nearly two months.

Notes:

Playlist for this fic:
- ‘Ritual’ (AWAY x Echos)
- ‘Bayou’ (Mountains of the Moon)
- ‘Lifeline’ (Layto)
- ‘Gold’ (Koven)
- ‘Death Stranding’ (CHVRCHES)
- ‘Wolves’ (Ata Alford cover)
- ‘The Sea’ (HAEVN)
- ‘Cold Skin’ (Seven Lions & Echos)
- ‘Human’ (Gabrielle Aplin)
- ‘seven’ (Taylor Swift)
- ‘Hurt’ (Bahari)
- ‘No Good’ (Jome)
- ‘If You Saw Me Now’ (Matilda ft. Tyler Hilton)
- ‘Wildest Dreams (Taylor’s Version)’ (Taylor Swift)
- ‘Partly Cloudy With a Chance of Tears’ (Skylar Grey)
- ‘Arms’ (Christina Perri)
- ‘Line Without a Hook’ (Ricky Montgomery)