Paperlegends: Stop my heart, Start your pulse (Part Two)

[ficbyjane]

Title: Stop My Heart, Start Your Pulse (Part 2 of 3)
Author: janesgravity
Artist: xsilverdreamsx
Pairings/characters: Percival/OMC (Owen) very background Merlin/Arthur; Lance/Gwen; Gwaine/various
Rating: NC-17  
Link to Masterpost


Leon shows up at the kennels just as Arthur’s leashing the last dog. Wordlessly he hands Leon one of the leashes and they both settle onto their horses.

Arthur stares up at the sky, which is cloudy and the wind is blowing cold, but he can’t feel any rain in the air. The hounds are straining on their leashes, eager for a run and Arthur plans to give them their head once they reach the forest.

“Let’s go,” he says to Leon. “He’s had enough of a head start.”

“Yes, Sire.”

Leon’s presence is like a balm to Arthur’s ricocheting thoughts. He’s silent and steady, leaving Arthur to focus on the task at hand - and what might be coming next.

He sighs as he settles into the saddle, waiting for his churning thoughts to settle on their own. He doesn’t know what to make of the whole thing. He can admit to himself that he’s … uncomfortable with the idea of Percival being - involved - with another man.

His father has had nothing for derision for such men the whole of Arthur’s life. He’s sneered and called them cowards and dandies, no more use on the battlefield than the whores that follow the camps and he’s always been ruthless in rooting them out of his army and out of Camelot.

Arthur had never thought about it much. If asked, he would have said he agreed with his father. But Percival … he’s certainly no coward, and as for being a ‘dandy’ …. if the situation wasn’t so grave, Arthur would smile at the idea of Percival dressing up in fussy clothes and mincing about the castle.

And then Merlin … he hadn’t known about Percival and Owen, that much was clear, but he also wasn’t surprised, or disgusted. Just … concerned for the boy. And for Arthur himself, his blue, blue eyes wide in his face … Arthur mentally snaps his thoughts away from that particular track. That can never lead anywhere.

He ignores the hollow feeling it leaves behind in the pit of his stomach. Instead, he forces his mind to turn to the task at hand.

Arthur sighs again and pulls his hood up as the skies open. Leon draws up beside him and squints up into the thickening rain.

He absently tugs on the leash of his hound as he turns to Arthur, raising his eyebrows in a silent question.

Arthur bites his lip and considers. They could go back to Camelot, get warm and dry, because the rain - heavier and heavier with every passing moment - is likely to obliterate any useful tracks. But then his father …

He waves his free hand towards the forest. “We go on. Uther will expect us to exhaust all possibilities, even in this weather.”

Leon nods but says nothing, huddling under his cloak as best he can, a bright slash of red against the grey gloom of the day.

Arthur winds the leash of his hound tight around his hand and urges his horse forward, into the thickening rain, trusting that Leon is behind him.



Owen is dreaming. He shifts, restless on the pallet in Gaius’ room. He’s close to waking but not so close that his dreams can’t still find him.

He can feel a cool hand on his forehead - water on a cloth - and a woman’s voice; pitched low and soothing. He frowns because the woman seems to be talking to him but he can’t answer her.

Because he is dreaming.

This time, he’s dreaming of the brothel. It’s not his first night there, nor his last. It is, however, a life-changing night: he is dreaming of the night he meets Percival for the first time.

He’s with Kay, in the common room downstairs, just to the left of the entrance. The ‘shop window’ as Kay calls it with a slightly bitter twist to his mobile mouth.

This night, he’s half-draped over Owen, and they’re both languid with heat and boredom; waiting for … something. Anything.

Owen murmurs something in his sleep, but calms when the cool hand on his forehead filters through his dreams again.

Percival. He’d come to the brothel that first time - and every other time after that - with Gwaine. But after that first night, he came for Owen.

Came back for Owen, week after week. In his sleep, in his pain, Owen curls up and sighs softly, settling onto the pallet as the memory of Percival winds around him like a blanket, offering comfort in his world suddenly gone wild.



Percival thinks, as he pushes through the trees, that he should be trying to mask his path. That someone - possibly Arthur - will come after him, and if it is Arthur, he has no chance of hiding.

Then, just as he’s thinking of retracing his steps, the skies open up.

He’s soaked to the skin immediately, lashed about with heavy rain and driving, pitiless winds. He stands still, opens his arms to it, and roars his grief to the indifferent, black sky.

It makes him feel better, lighter, for a precious short moment. Percival sucks in a deep, cold breath and runs his hand over his head. The rain hasn’t lessened. If anything, it’s raining harder.

He needs shelter. A hiding place. Somewhere close to Camelot but that he won’t be found … Percival turns into the driving rain, squinting around him before heading towards what looks in the gathering gloom like a large rock fall.

It is, and there’s a gap that he shouldn’t be able to fit through - it’s narrow and he holds his breath and scrapes his skin, not noticing when the rain washes away faint red traces from grazes on his skin coming off as he pushes through to a large - and more importantly at the moment - dry cave.

The floor of the cave is covered with more rocks, and packed dirt. Percival picks a large, flat rock and sits down, burying his head in his hands, oblivious to the shivers racking his body and the tears coursing down his face.

He can breathe, finally. The rain outside is already washing away any trace of his passing and he’s dry, if not warm. He supposes he should try and light a fire, see if there’s anything he can get even a small blaze going with.

Instead, Sir Percival, Knight of the Round Table of Camelot, former son of farmers and a man capable of loving deeply and long, sits in the cold and in the dark, drawing up memories of Owen, like lancing poison from a snake bite.



They met because of Gwaine. He’d been long and shamelessly singing the praises of Agatha’s brothel, exhorting the other knights, Merlin - and even once or twice - Arthur - to visit with him.

Leon’s gone along a few times, blushing to the roots of his hair when he endured the other knights’ teasing, and Arthur’s disapproving looks after. Lance had only ever had eyes for Gwen, and as for Elyan … he’d gone about the same number of times as Leon, until the youngest daughter of one of Camelot’s noble families had caught his eye.

Despite his being born a commoner, the family approved the match - they had three other daughters to marry off, and as one of the knights of Prince Arthur, Elyan’s personal status wasn’t in question.

Which left Percival for Gwaine to corrupt, as he put it, cheerfully and shamelessly.

Percival had just … blushed and not said anything.

“Come onnn Percival, please come with me? It’s much more fun than me going on my own. The girls, man, the girls …”

Percival blushed and stammered as they made their way to Gwaine’s room, Gwaine leaning heavily on Percival’s shoulder.

“I, er … I don’t - “ He didn’t know how to broach the subject - how to say out loud to Gwaine that girls weren’t really … but somehow Gwaine - who has scarily good instincts for someone who’s idea of a great time is spending whole days marinating in ale - catches Percival’s discomfort. However, he just grins wider.

“There are also a couple of lovely boys there, my very large friend, if that’s where your inclinations lie.­”­­ He's lowered his voice instinctively, everyone knows what Uther thinks of men who lie with other men …

“I - “ Percival hesitates on the verge of saying no; of denying that Gwaine’s right. But it’s been so very long since he’s been with anyone and there’s a difference between taking yourself in hand on cold, long nights and …

“All right. But - you can’t, you can’t tell anyone.”

Gwaine’s expression turns serious as they stop outside the door to his chambers. He rests a hand on Percival’s shoulder and offers up a small smile.

“Don’t worry about that,” he says quietly. “All right? Day after tomorrow. We’ll head down after dinner. Oh, better make sure you’ve got coin on you, too.”

Percival rolls his eyes but he nods and waits until Gwaine has shut his door behind him before heading to his own rooms.

He’s … excited. Nervous of course, because the last time Uther had caught two men together - a nobleman of the court with one of his knights - he’d banished both men and seized all of their properties without hesitation.

But gods the thought of someone else’s hands on his skin … on his …. he shakes his head as he pushes open the door to his own room. He’d never considered paying for the privilege of … intimacy with another person, but now … Percival changes for bed, forgoing calling for his squire, craving privacy over any human interaction as he feels anticipation start to buzz under his skin.

The brothel looks like an ordinary home in the more upmarket part of Camelot. It’s large and rambling and from the outside, looks like nothing so much as the respectable manor of a wealthy family.

Inside, however, it’s a different story.

They’re greeted by a woman who looks to be in her early 30s - well-groomed and well-presented. She introduces herself as Agatha, the owner of the establishment, and leads them into a large, well-lit room.

Percival has the overall impression of many couches and chairs; of girls lounging about, looking at the men who have just entered with professional interest.

A few sit up straight at the sight of Gwaine and Percival, and Percival can feel his ears going red. Until, that is, Gwaine nudges him and points towards a chair in a slightly shadowed corner.

There are two boys on the chair, sitting close together. One is looking at both himself and Gwaine with bold and frank appraisal before he grins at Gwaine and winks, nudging the boy beside him.

He had been lying with his head tipped back, his eyes closed, so that Percival’s first view of Owen is of his neck, a pale expanse of skin that he can already feel his fingers twitching to touch.

The other boy says something to make him open his eyes and lift his head.

Percival has never been struck by lightning; never had anything happen to him that just makes him … stop in his tracks. But the moment the boy - who he will soon be introduced to as Owen - opens his eyes, Percival is struck. Struck, and gone.

He takes an involuntary step forward, before Gwaine’s hand on his arm reminds him of where they are.

“Easy, big man. Let’s get the sordid details out of the way first. Then we can have some fun …”

Percival nods, without looking back at Gwaine. He watches, his mouth sand-dry as both boys untangle themselves from the chair and move towards them. He’s vaguely aware of the other boy - Kay - he hears Gwaine call him - wind his arms around Gwaine’s neck, laughing; and the clink of coins into the hands of the brothelkeeper. He fumbles for his purse, flushing as the other boy stands in front of him, his hands loose at his sides and his lashes sweeping down over his cheeks as he blinks slowly, once, and then again.

Gwaine makes an amused sort of noise at his side and relieves him of his purse, tucking it back on to Percival’s belt, several coins lighter.

“Off you go, big man. You’re paid up through the night.”

Percival nods, and then realises that he should perhaps say something.

He’s rescued, by the boy in front of him. “My name’s Owen,” he says, his voice soft and pitched low. “My room is upstairs. If you’d like to follow me …”

And that’s how it started. With Percival stumbling after Owen like a clumsy teenager just coming into his first growth.

That first night, they mostly talk, tucked up close together on Owen’s narrow bed, as though they’ve known each other their whole lives, and not just met by chance.

Towards the end of the night, just before dawn begins to tease at the sky, Percival takes Owen for the first time, his eyes wide in wonder as he presses in, feeling slick-tight-hot around him, and Owen’s fingers digging into his arms.

They lie together, tangled up in arms and legs and racing hearts until someone bangs on the door, that their time is up and time in this place actually is money.

“When will you come back?” Owen asks, as Percival searches the room for his breeches and his shirt, fastening on his cloak.

“If it were up to me, I would take you with me now,” Percival replies, stroking a thumb over Owen’s cheek. “But for now …. I will be back at the same time next week.”

Owen bites his bottom lip - already red and swollen, a temptingly innocent gesture.

“I promise,” Percival says quietly, feeling Owen nod against his hand.

Percival kneels by the bed, heedless of the even louder knocking.

“Owen,” he says, pausing until Owen raises his eyes. “I promise you, I will be back next week, and the week after that and after that, until I can afford to take you away from this. I don’t - I don’t care what you do, I don’t care that this is how we met, or that I only met you yesterday … I can’t -“

Owen cuts him off, kissing him deep and hard on his mouth. Percival groans and returns it with fervour, tangling his hand in Owen’s hair.

“They’re going to break down the door,” Owen whispers, a glint of amusement in his eyes. Percival grins and shakes his head. “Then I had better go. I … I’ll see you next week.”



Percival doubles over as his stomach cramps and he heaves, stumbling to a corner by the door just in time to expel the contents of his stomach - mostly ale and bile, that burns at the back of his throat.

He collapses back against the cave wall, and scrubs at his face, drawing in deep, harsh breaths until his stomach calms and he can try to think.

He carefully puts his memories of Owen away as far as he can - at the moment, they hurt more than they help. He closes his eyes, though, and deliberately conjures Owen’s face: the thick riot of brown curls on his head, the way his eyes would spark with mischief or sheer joy, the way he would gasp and stutter broken words into Percival’s ear when they were joined, his voice always shattering at the last moment, the way he would talk with his hands, getting excited or impassioned about something or anything, until Percival would catch them in his own, encompassing them and kissing the palm.

Percival breathes again, deep and slow, before sinking to the floor.

Someone has taken the most precious thing he has ever had in his life. They have taken his love, and one way or another, they will pay.

With that thought - after hours of raging at the sky and crying more tears than he thought the human body could contain - Percival is able to sleep. He stays where he is, leaning against the wall and lets his eyes slide closed, letting the drumming sound of the rain wash over him and temporarily give him peace.



Merlin stands on the battlements of the castle, shivering and soaked to the skin, but not moving. He hopes it will be enough. It will have to be enough, because he daren’t challenge nature any further than he already has.

The rain is heavy enough to wash away tracks and surely even Arthur won’t be able to find anything in this storm.

Merlin grips the stone in front of him hard, letting it bite into his hand and ground him back to the world.

“Please,” he whispers, hardly aware of having said anything. “Just … long enough. Just long enough for the trail to be obscured. That’s all I need.”

He feels weak, suddenly and leans against a thick buttress, closing his eyes. He’s freezing and soaked through, but nearly oblivious to the rain. His thoughts jumble and blur, and he has no idea how long he’s been standing there until he can hear someone shouting his name.

Merlin blinks his eyes open slowly, and frowns. It’s still raining somewhat but it’s not the thick, black storm of earlier. He feels a shiver wrack through him and looks up to find Lance watching him, his eyebrows raised.

“Oh. Lance. I was just …”

Lance raises a hand, grinning. “Whatever it is, Merlin, I don’t need to know. But you’ve been gone for what feels like hours and Gaius was worried. He asked me to come and look for you.”

“Right.” Merlin blinks again, and shakes his head, pushing himself off the castle wall. He grimaces as he shivers again, and his legs feel weak. Wordlessly Lance moves to help, propping Merlin’s slight frame easily against his side.

“Um. Is … are Arthur and Leon back yet?”

“Rode into the courtyard a few minutes ago. Looking like drowned rats. Come on, let’s get you to Gaius. The last thing he needs is another patient on his hands.”

“Er. Right. I didn’t think of that, I was - I wonder - “

“Arthur and Leon were alone, Merlin,” Lancelot says gently as he helps him down the steps. “Whatever you were doing with the rain, it worked. Percival is still free. Well, for now …”

Merlin turns on the landing and studies his friend. “Do you think … do you …”

Lance shakes his head, and prods Merlin in the direction of Gaius’ chambers. “No, Merlin, I don’t think Percival did this. I don’t believe he’s capable of hurting anyone, let alone someone that he loves.”

“And the fact that Owen is …”

“Male?” Lancelot shrugs as they turn down the corridor containing Gaius’ rooms. “I know what Uther thinks of it. For myself … love is love, Merlin. And I don’t see how that can ever be wrong.”

Merlin grins at that as Lance opens the door, his face lighting up when he sees Gwen there, sitting in a chair by Owen’s bed.

Lance crosses the room as she stands up, one hand absently on her still only slightly curved stomach. Lance covers her hand with his own and rests his forehead against hers.

Merlin feels something twist up and knot inside of himself as he watches. He sighs and rubs his hand over his eyes. There are more pressing things to deal with than the fact he sleeps alone at night and is likely to do for the rest of his life.

“How is he?” he asks Gaius when the old physician moves to sit on Owen’s other side, lifting the blankets to check his ribs and bandages.

“He’s doing fine,” Gaius says. “Now it’s just a matter of time, really, before he wakes up. Gwaine’s gone back to the brothel,” Gaius continues, raising a hand in a vague gesture as Lance and Gwen make to leave. Merlin turns and flashes a brief smile at Lance, even as he reaches for a thick square of linen, warming by the fireplace. He strips his soaking shirt off and gratefully rubs the warm towel over his torso, turning his back to do the same with his boots and breeches, quietly whispering a drying spell over his clothes, so he can put them straight back on.

“Better?” Gaius asks as Merlin comes to take the seat Gwen had vacated.

“Much,” he says, nodding.

“You were saying something about Gwaine?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Gwaine’s gone back to the brothel. He seems to think that another boy who works there might know what happened to Owen - he’s bringing him back here.”

Merlin nods, feeling his eyes threaten to close as exhaustion washes through him. He lifts his head as the door opens and Elyan comes in, glancing at the bed, then looking at Merlin.

“Arthur’s looking for you,” he says.

Merlin groans but stands up, stretching. “He’ll be wanting help to change. And a bath, probably. And he’ll be wanting someone to shout at. Well, I suppose I’d better get going.”

“Tell him that Owen is doing better, and we’re just waiting for him to wake up - if he asks,” Gaius says, and Merlin nods, sighing as he indulges in a moment of self-pity. What he’d really like is a quiet, extended nap and a hot cup of Gaius’ herbal tea. What he’s going to get, however, is shouted at, probably for quite some time. Possibly also things thrown at him.

However, when he gets to Arthur’s chambers, Merlin’s heart betrays him again, when he sees how wet and bedraggled Arthur is. He’s standing by the fireplace, muttering at the cold and empty grate, the fire Merlin had lit early that morning long gone out.

He turns and frowns when he hears Merlin enter and sighs, stepping back from the mantle.

“Get this fire going, Merlin, while I change. It’s freezing in here. Then I’m going to have to go and tell my father that Leon and I failed to find anything, thanks to that blasted rain.”

Merlin merely nods and makes a show of gathering small pieces of wood from the basket by the fireplace as Arthur retreats behind his screen to change. Merlin whispers a word over the wood and soon has a blaze going that warms the cold stones of the room.

Arthur comes back out, rubbing a square of threadbare linen over his hair, and all Merlin can do for a moment is stare. Arthur’s changed into a blue linen shirt and plain brown breeches, the laces at his throat are undone, framing his collarbones and the dip in his throat, making Merlin’s own throat close up and his insides curl with want.

He swallows hard against, because now is not the time or the place - it will never be the time or the place - and Arthur needs him to be - well, not that, anyway, however much Merlin - and his traitorous magic - might wish things to be different.

Arthur breaks the spell and the odd tension when he flicks at Merlin with his still-damp towel.

“ Stop wool-gathering, Merlin. You look more vacant than usual, if that’s possible. Come on - Leon should be ready by now - “

There’s a quiet knock at the door of Arthur’s room, and Merlin gratefully uses the excuse to get away from Arthur’s proximity for a moment, absently dropping the towel on the floor, barely registering Arthur’s exasperated “Merlin!” as he opens it to find Leon waiting.

Arthur strides across the room to the door, nodding quietly at his knight.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Merlin asks quietly.

Arthur sighs and runs a hand through his still-damp hair, making it stick up and unknowingly making Merlin’s fingertips twitch.

“No … stay here and for god’s sake Merlin tidy this room, I don’t want to come back to this mess.”

“This mess that you made,” Merlin argues, unable to help himself, rewarded when Arthur just rolls his eyes.

“Oh before you go - I know Uther won’t ask but I thought you’d like to know - Gaius says that Owen is doing fine, and it’s just a matter of time before he wakes up.”

Arthur’s expression shutters immediately but Leon smiles. “That is good news. We’ll pass it on to the king.”

Merlin smiles, feeling suddenly exhausted and drained as he pushes the door shut behind Arthur and Leon. He rubs at his eyes, tired and sore, until his vision blurs slightly and then sighs before bending his mind to the most mundane task of all: tidying up after Arthur.

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Arthur strides down the corridor, his steps echoing on the stone. He doesn’t need to look to see if Leon is beside him, he matches Arthur’s stride easily.

Like always, Leon’s presence is soothing to Arthur’s roiling thoughts, unlike Merlin who can set Arthur’s thoughts going in seven different directions with one careless word, and right now - about to face his father with his failure - what Arthur needs is calm.

Merlin, he knows, will understand and not take offence. He’ll grumble all day long about having to clean up Arthur’s room, but that’s as far as any of it will go.

Arthur stops for a moment and sighs, stretching out the tension building in his shoulders.

“It’s hard to believe that it’s still the same day,” he says almost to himself, glancing out a window. The storm has passed and the sun is setting, taking its time to paint the sky shades of red and orange as it goes down.

Leon makes a soft noise of agreement, before tapping on the heavy door. “I know what you mean,” he says quietly as the door swings slowly open. “It feels like it’s been weeks.”

Arthur nods, and fixes a blank, neutral expression on his face before forcing himself to stride into his father’s chambers with a confidence he doesn’t feel.

As he meets Uther’s stony gaze, he has to resist the urge to rub at his eyes, suddenly tired and feeling full of grit. It’s been a long, long day, and now it’s shaping up to be an even longer night.

Much as he wants to, delaying the inevitable won’t help anyone in the long run, so Arthur, with his faithful lieutenant at his side, steps forward to report their failure.

“You … lost his trail?” Uther says, frowning.

“Not exacty, father. We never picked up on his trail. The rain made sure of that.”

Uther raises an eyebrow and glances out the window where the rain is easing off.

“If I may, Sire,” Leon says respectfully, “The rain was very heavy, and Arthur spent far more time trying to find Percival’s trail than anyone else I know would have …” Uther turns his steady, steely gaze on Leon who merely stands tall and solid by Arthur’s side, meeting Uther’s eyes.

“So - you’ve lost him. He could be anywhere by now. A known killer and a consorter with men. Not your best day, Arthur.”

Arthur grinds his teeth together and sketches a brief bow that Uther doesn’t see.

“Sorry, father,” he says, quietly before leading Leon back out of the room.

There doesn’t seem to be any more that he can say.



Kay can’t stop shaking, no matter what he does. He reluctantly directs the thugs to Percival’s room, his eyes on Owen’s slight, too-still frame as they move quickly and silently through the empty citadel. Owen hasn’t moved. One of the thugs has thrown him over his shoulder, like he would a sack of grain, and all Kay can do is stare at the body of his friend, swaying and bumping along.

Owen is - left - in Percival’s room, and Kay holds his breath because the thugs are about to turn their attention to him when they hear voices down another corridor, but coming closer.

“Back to the whorehouse boy,” the lead thug snarls in his face, giving Kay full view of his mouth, rotten and broken teeth and all. “And nothing to no one. Tell herself that the boy bolted before you got to us, or something. That you think he was going for the castle, looking for that knight of his.”

They’re outside the castle walls now, and the thug grabs Kay’s upper arm squeezing it painfully. Kay grits his teeth and tears flood his eyes but he stays upright and stares the thug straight in the eye.

Seeing what had happened to Owen has given him an odd, wild kind of courage and he grins and would spit in the thug’s eye if his mouth weren’t so very dry.

“You. Hear. Me. Boy?”

Kay licks his lips and considers doing it anyway. But Kay was born and raised in the house he works in now. From an early age his mother had taught him to fight when he needed to fight, and run when he needed to run.

Now, he feels, isn’t the time to fight. He’ll end up just as dead as Owen, and Percival will likely have two false accusations on his head.

“I hear you,” he says, eventually, not taking his eyes off the thug’s face.

“Good.” The thug shoves him roughly away, so he lands on his hands and knees in the dirt, to the harsh sound of laughter.

“Now bugger off, boy. Go and earn some of that good coin, pay off a slice more of Bran’s debt. Stupid little whore.”

Kay stays down, his head hanging low, until he can catch his breath. The thugs are still there, and one of them will no doubt tail him back to Agatha’s to make sure he doesn’t make a run for it.

For a moment, he feels trapped, his throat clogged. He closes his eyes and an image of Owen comes to mind, the morning after the first night he’d spent with Percival. His face is alight as he curls up on Kay’s bed, his hands going everywhere as he talks about his knight.

Kay fixes that picture in his head - Owen looking so light and happy and able to look forward to a future not earning on his back - and pulls himself up from the dirt. His hands are shaking already, and he can’t brush all the dirt from his clothes, but he straightens, turns away from the thugs and heads back to Agatha’s.

Everyone is full of questions and concerns and ‘where’s Owen?’ and all Kay wants to do is lie down and pretend this day never happened.

But he can’t stop shaking.

Esther saves him. She bullies everyone else away, even Agatha, facing her down when the madam would have Kay go back to work that very night.

“You brought this on us, Agatha. You and your brother. You leave him alone.” Esther is vicious and nearly magnificent. She had been a friend of Kay’s mother, long succumbed to a sweating summer fever and had raised Kay herself after his mother’s death. Now she sees him hurting and afraid, and is ready to bare her claws for him.

Kay leans against Esther’s shoulder and closes his eyes, feeling the tremors shake his frame.

“Come on, Kay. Let’s get you to your room, get some tea into you …”

Kay lets Esther’s voice wash over him, lets her guide him to his room - a prime downstairs spot that had been his mother’s before his. He lets Esther fuss about him, pushing him to sit on the bed, sending one of the other girls crowding the doorway away for tea … Kay sits on the edge of the bed and wills his hands to stop shaking.

Someone comes back and hands him a steaming, fragrant mug of something hot.

“Drink up, lovely,” Esther says quietly. “It’ll help.”

Kay drinks, carefully and slowly and feels the tremors coursing through him start to ease off. Whatever’s in the tea is enough to calm him down without putting him to sleep and he drinks it to the dregs, handing the mug to Esther afterwards.

“Can you talk about it lovely? What happened?”

Esther’s voice is gentle and there’s no pressure behind her words, but Kay knows that sooner or later he’s going to have to tell them what happened.

He flinches when heavy rain suddenly sweeps over the house, loud and intrusive. He looks at Esther and wonders what he looks like to her. He feels like a ghost.

Esther just waits, sitting on the bed with him, quiet apart from the thundering rain on the roof. He takes a deep breath, and another one, letting them out slowly.

“I - I think - I’m pretty sure … Owen is - he’s - “ Kay covers his face with his shaking hands, barely noticing how cold they are.

“Is what, lovely?” Esther asks, but her voice is the unnatural calm of someone who knows the answer to a question she doesn’t want to hear. “What did those men do to you?”

Kay shakes his head. “N-nothing. To me. I - They … hurt - Owen so badly and I couldn’t - and I think he’s - and they made me - “ he bends over as his stomach roils, purging the tea he’s just drunk and everything else until he’s empty and heaving. Esther rubs his back and says nothing, merely helping him to lie down on the bed before going quietly out of the room for water and cloths.

She and one of the other girls - Mirabelle, he thinks as his eyes start to drift close - clean up the mess, talking quietly. He hears one shocked, loud exclamation from Mirabelle, before blessed, silent darkness steals over him, and he sleeps.

The banging seems like part of the dream he’s having at first - a vague nightmare of being chased through an endless maze by a roaring beast who starts banging at the door - Kay blinks his eyes slowly, his head muzzy with sleep and grief.

There’s shouting on the other side of it now - he can hear Agatha’s sharp tones, Esther’s quieter voice and … Kay stumbles out of the bed, pushing back the covers that someone had placed over him, and pulls his door open.

“Gwaine,” he says blankly. “What are you doing here?”

Gwaine’s jaw is clenched and he looks angry which sits badly on his open, friendly face. He must see something like fear in Kay’s own face because he makes a visible effort to calm down, glaring at both Agatha and Esther in the process.

“I am not here for Kay’s services” he spits, glaring at Agatha. “I’m here because I need to talk to him. It’s about Owen.”

Kay leans against his doorframe, suddenly light-headed and nauseated again. “Owen? But Owen’s - he’s - “ He still can’t say the words out loud. He makes a pointless, sweeping gesture with his hand and hopes that Gwaine will gather his meaning, much like Esther did.

“Gwaine, whatever it is - can it not wait? Kay’s been through a lot, and he’s mourning a deep loss - we all are.”

Kay blinks and shoots Esther a weak, grateful smile. Gwaine, however, isn’t moving. He’s just standing there, frowning, his arms folded.

“I see,” he says quietly. “I think - Kay, I think you had better come back to the castle with me. There’s … someone you need to see.”

“No, absolutely not,” Agatha intervenes before anyone else can say anything. “Yes, we’re all sad to lose Owen, of course we are, and we’ll all mourn him in our own way but Kay has - “

She’s cut off when Gwaine unties a heavy pouch from his belt, dropping it on the floor at her feet. It clinks heavily with coin and even Kay blinks in surprise.

“That should be more than enough to cover his … fees,” Gwaine says.

“I’m sorry, Kay, I can’t explain right now, but you really do need to come with me to the castle.”

Kay looks at Esther, who gives a small half-shrug - can’t be worse, she mouths at him silently before giving him a wink. Esther squeezes his arm as she passes, giving Gwaine her best ‘if you hurt him I’ll cut your balls off’ stare, before drifting further back into the house.

“I have to … get my things,” Kay says, hardly aware of speaking.

Gwaine nods, all genial good nature again. “Come on then. I”ll help you. The sooner we’re out of here, the better.”



Owen is dreaming. He feels like he’s floating, like he used to do as a young boy, in the high hot summer when his mother would take him into the woods, to a wide, cooling pool. There would be nothing but trees and sky, and the water lapping at his overheated skin.

He blinks and shifts, frowning as he swims up from sleep. He’s … in bed, tangled in blankets. He half-hears a soothing female voice, and feels a cool hand on his forehead. Before he blinks awake, he thinks mother and then, Esther but he realises his mistake as soon as he opens his eyes.

The woman by the bed has dark skin, kind dark eyes, and curly hair. She gives him a reassuring smile before turning to someone else, saying, “Gaius - he’s awake.”

Owen tries to sit up, but the woman puts her hand on his shoulder as a wave of dizziness passes through him. “Easy,” she says, softly. “You’ve been through a lot. Let Gaius take a look at you before you try anything strenuous.”

Owen just nods, and lies gratefully back on the bed, watching as Gaius comes over to the bed, a reassuring smile on his kind face.

“There you are,” he says, bending over the bed, carefully checking Owen over with gentle hands. “Gwen, could you get Owen here a cup of water? His mouth will be dry.”

“Of course.”

“Right, lad. Let’s have a go at sitting up again. Slowly does it - that’s right.”

Gaius helps Owen sit up in the bed. Owen blinks and stares around the room, confused. He recognises Gaius - he’s been at the brothel often in his capacity as physician, but … they’re not at the brothel. Owen scrubs a hand through his hair and accepts a cup from Gwen, filled with lovely cool water.

“Drink slowly,” Gaius advises. “Then I’m sure you have questions.”

Owen sips at the water, though his impulse is to swallow it down in great gulps.

Apart from Gaius and the woman called Gwen, the room is empty. Well, not empty Owen amends to himself, glancing around at the herbs and bowls and paraphernalia of Gaius’ occupation.

He’s been hurt, he’s been badly hurt - his ribs ache, and his head hurts and if he’s been injured … “Where’s …” his voice fades to nothing and he plucks awkwardly at the blanket with his free hand. He has no idea how much they know about himself and Percival - if anything.

He looks up in time to see Gwen and Gaius exchange a look and it seems as though Gwen is about to say something, when the door opens and someone comes in, in a swirl of red cloak.

Owen blinks at the newcomer and clutches his cup, suddenly self-conscious.

“Elyan,” Gwen says, “Owen’s awake. We were just about to tell him …”

Elyan studies Gwen’s face, and Owen wonders if they’re related, they look so similar.

“I’ll do it,” he says quietly. “Lance is on his way to your chambers, fretting that you’ve been on your feet too much today.”

Gwen rolls her eyes but smiles as she touches her stomach gently. “Then I had better get back to him. Let him know I’m not going to fall apart, and I’ve mostly been sitting anyway.” Gwen turns back to the bed and smiles at Owen - such a wide, genuinely warm smile, that Owen can’t help smiling back, despite his confusion.

They wait until Gwen has left, closing the door behind her.

Elyan settles in the chair by the bed as Gaius mutters something about making up some soup.

“You’ll be wanting to know about Percival.”

“I - you … you know,” Owen says quietly, folding the blanket nervously between his fingers. He can’t meet Elyan’s eyes, not sure what he’ll see there - whether it will be understanding, or pity, or something far worse.

“Yes, I know, though I only found out … this morning. It’s been a very long day.”

Owen looks up and glances around the room, frowning. He feels sluggish and sore, slow in his thinking. “Where … if I’m hurt … “

Elyan sighs and waits until Owen looks up.

“Don’t tax him for too long,” Gaius says from by the fire. “Basic facts then let him rest.”

Elyan nods and smiles at Owen.

Owen keeps pleating the blanket between his fingers but he’s able to meet Elyan’s eyes.

“I’m sorry. I’m - confused. It’s just, I thought that, that Percival would be here …”

“He would be, if he could,” Elyan says gently. “He’s … gone.”

“Gone? Gone where?” Owen frowns in distress and he can feel sweat prickling along his temple as his breathing starts coming out in short gasps. Gaius is beside him suddenly, holding out a steaming cup that smells like fragrant herbs.

“Here,” he says gently. “Drink this while Elyan explains. It will help.”

Owen takes the cup and turns his eyes back to Elyan, who’s regarding him with a calm look.

“As near as we can tell … Percival didn’t show up for training this morning. We were all under the weather a bit, we went out last night, celebrating. Merlin - you know Gaius’ apprentice - went to look for Percival .. but he found you, instead. Unconscious on Percival’s bed. Whoever did this to you was obviously looking to frame him. In his somewhat lowered state, Percival must have thought you were dead. And either that he would be blamed, or grief overtook him. Either way - we don’t know where he is.”

Owen blinks, and takes a careful sip of the hot, fragrant tea. “You think that Percival thinks I’m dead? He’s - he’s out there alone somewhere, and he thinks - you have to find him!”

Elyan takes the cup as some of the liquid spills over the side.

“At the moment, his best chance is to stay hidden. The king has very … definite ideas about men who - take up with other men. I’m not saying I agree with him, or any of Percival’s friends, but the truth is that wherever he is, he’s better off.”

Owen sinks back on to the nearly flat mattress, staring at the stone ceiling. He’d known, of course, about the king’s bias, had talked about it many times with Percival, but it had only ever felt like an abstract thing. Even with Percival talking about buying him out of Agatha’s, Owen had never really thought about how Uther’s personal prejudices could affect their lives.

Taking a deep breath, he grits his teeth and sits up again.

“Percival didn’t do this. Percival couldn’t do this. He would never hurt me.”

Elyan glances at Gaius who gives a small nod to carry on.

“We know that, Owen. All of Percival’s friends - the knights, Merlin, none of us believe him capable of hurting you. We’ll get him back for you. You just need to be patient.”

“And get some rest,” Gaius says suddenly. He smiles at Elyan and makes a shooing gesture with his hands. “It’s getting late, my boy. Your lady wife will be wondering where you’ve got to. I’ll be all right here, and Merlin should be along soon to help. We all need a good night’s sleep, and we can come at it fresh in the morning.”

Elyan nods and silently squeezes Owen’s hand, resting flat on the patched blanket.

“I - thank you - Elyan? Thank you.”

Elyan smiles before ducking silently out the door.

Gaius smiles at Owen who find himself relaxing under the kindly gaze. “I - I don’t know how to thank you, Gaius. For - everything.”

Gaius waves a hand and turns back to his fire. “It’s nothing, dear boy, don’t even think of it.”

“It’s … so much to take in,” Owen says, blinking and feeling overwhelmed.

“Of course. Well, you’ll be seeing at least one familiar face soon - Gwaine - you know Gwaine, yes?”

Owen nods and waits for Gaius to continue. “Well, he’s gone to fetch Kay from Agatha’s. He seems to think Kay might know something about what happened to you?”

Kay, Owen thinks with a guilty start. “I hadn’t thought about Kay,” he says quietly as Gaius re-checks his bandages once more, grunting in satisfaction.

“He … he was with me.”

Gaius looks at the young boy, his eyes piercing and thoughtful. “He was with you when this happened?”

Owen nods, feeling shame and guilt wash through him.

“So - do you know - “

Whatever question Gaius was going to ask is interrupted by the door being flung open, and Gwaine and Kay rushing in. Kay’s already talking a mile a minute, his hands stretched out, and all Owen can do is reach out, bringing his friend into his embrace and repeating over and over, “It’s all right, I’m all right,” vaguely aware of Gaius admonishing Kay to be gentle, and Gwaine in the background, his arms folded, a grim look on his face.



Percival wakes with a start, his mouth dry and his heart racing. He’s still sitting in the same position and his muscles groan in protest when he tries to move. He’s dry again, but he’s freezing and it takes him a moment to remember the events of the day before.

Owen. He digs his hands into the hard, rocky ground of the cave, using the physical pain to distract his aching heart. Carefully he stands up, methodically stretching out his legs and his arms until he feels his blood flowing warm through his veins again.

Percival stretches and reaches down, absently adjusting his scabbard, pushed out of his way the night before, but still securely around his hips. He draws his sword and stares at the cold, steel blade for a long moment.

Someone has taken the person he loves - loved the most in the world. Someone has stolen his future, his hope, and his heart. And now, Percival thinks, standing up and straightening his massive shoulders, someone is going to pay.

He has a renewed sense of purpose as he slips out of the cave entrance into the forest, the fragile dawn of a new day just barely touching the tops of the trees.

The air is clear and sharp, washed clean by the heavy rain of the day before. The ground under his feet is a sodden carpet of leaves, but Percival barely notices.

Owen is gone. All of the hopes he had for a shared future taste like cold ashes in his mouth. He feels a strong flush of shame as he recalls his wild flight of the day before. But panic has burned out of him, replaced by a strong, abiding grief, and another kind of fire: a cold, long-burning desire for revenge.

Percival sets his face to Camelot and takes a deep breath. He risks arrest, he knows, just by re-entering the city gates. But he has friends like Gwaine and Merlin, who know all of the high and low places to sneak in and out of the castle and the town, and he knows he can make it to his destination without being seen if he’s careful.

He hesitates a moment, before unclasping his long red cloak and letting it fall to the forest floor. It’s far too distinctive, and after yesterday, he’s pretty sure that Arthur won’t welcome him back to his place at the Round Table.

He pauses to take a deep breath as that careless thought sends another stab of grief to his burdened heart. He would have given it all up for Owen - being a knight, even giving up his friends - men he has fought beside, would die for and with - but it would have been his choice. To have it ripped away from him like this …

Percival sets his jaw, carefully buries his cloak under a pile of forest debris, swings his sword in a wide arc, and sets his feet, and what remains of his heart, back to Camelot.

He supposes that Arthur, or some of the other knights may come looking for him, so - despite wanting to hurry, burst through the city gates and demand justice, Percival calms his breathing, and his pulse, and plunges into the forest itself, carefully to erase his passage as he goes, and always keeping the high stone walls of the castle in front of him.



The interview with Uther is about as draining as Arthur expects it to be. They raise their voices and the argument rages and echoes off the ancient stones of the castle.

Uther is determined that Arthur should banish his “precious Round Table - it’s brought you nothing but trouble, and has brought shame down on to my rule!”

“NO” Arthur roars, surprised at the power in his own voice, that even stops Uther in his tracks and makes Leon jump slightly.

Arthur pushes a hand roughly through his hair and grits his teeth, feeling an ache deep in his jaw. If he gives this away now - gives away his dream of a more united Camelot to Uther, then he will never be the king that he knows he can be one day.

“No,” he says, more calmly, his voice hoarse. “They are my knights, father, not yours. And I will not put together the best group of knights - men I trust with my very life only to have them undone by you because of one knight’s - transgressions.”

Arthur forces himself to look Uther in the eye, face-to-face, almost equals. Uther stares at him for a long moment, before shrugging, dismissing them both with a deceptively idle wave of his hand.

“Very well. Have it your way. You will destroy everything that I have worked to build here, through your sheer sentiment but I suppose that is your choice. Now go. Do not return to me until you have news of your … knight.”

“Yes, father,” Arthur says quietly, indicating to Leon to follow. They both leave the room quietly, Arthur exhaling a long, long breath when he’s out in the corridor again.

“That could have been worse,” Leon says quietly as they make their way back to Arthur’s chambers.

Arthur just nods, glancing out a window at the dark sky, now dotted and spangled thick with stars. Exhaustion hits him like a wave, and he nearly stumbles, but for Leon’s steadying hand on his shoulder.

“You need rest,” Leon says, his own voice weary. “We all do.”

Arthur just nods as Leon pushes open the door to his chambers. “Thank you Leon,” Arthur says, aiming for detached, but only just making tired. “I’ll … see you in the morning.” He smiles at his faithful knight to take away the sting of the dismissal. Leon just nods and closes the door quietly behind him.

Arthur turns, mentally steeling himself for Merlin’s chatter, but the room is quiet. The fire is going, and there’s food on the table. Merlin’s head suddenly pops up from behind Arthur’s dressing screen and he smiles, wide and bright when he sees Arthur.

Despite his deep exhaustion, Arthur finds himself smiling back, feeling lighter already.

“I won’t ask how it went,” Merlin says, busying himself with helping Arthur unbuckle his sword, putting it away as Arthur collapses into his chair, not realising until he can smell the roast meat on his plate how starving he his.

He’s vaguely aware of Merlin moving about the room, even though it looks as tidy as Arthur’s ever seen it. He kicks at the chair beside him and says, “Here, sit down. You’re making me more tired just looking at you.”

Merlin collapses into the chair, his arms and legs seemingly everywhere for a moment, his stupid neckerchief has come askew and Arthur finds himself staring at the hollow between Merlin’s collarbones. Merlin’s skin is slightly flushed, warming it from its usual pallor to slightly pink and Arthur can’t stop staring …

Merlin waves his fingers in front of Arthur’s eyes, breaking the spell. Arthur starts back, blinking, flushing and angry.

“What are you doing Merlin, you could put someone’s eye out waving your fingers about like that!”

Arthur ducks his head to his plate and picks up a large piece of meat, biting down on it viciously.

“I was wondering where you’d gone,” Merlin says cheerfully, stealing Arthur’s loaf of bread and breaking it in half. “You looked more absent than usual just then.”

Arthur rolls his eyes but feels some of the tension leach out of his shoulders. Bantering with Merlin puts them on better footing and what’s he thinking anyway, staring at Merlin’s throat of all things? He must be more tired than he thought. He rubs at his eyes and reaches for his goblet that Merlin - thoughtful for once - has filled with only slightly watered down wine.

They eat in companionable silence for a while, and Arthur can feel his limbs getting heavy even as a yawn escapes, threatening to crack his jaw. Merlin is sitting with his head in one hand, the fire reflecting gold in his eyes, his fingers playing with the stem of his own goblet.

It’s a strangely intimate moment and Arthur shifts on his chair, feeling his face flush red from the wine and the proximity of Mer - of the fire. He frowns and shakes his head. Between Percival disappearing, and the revelations about his personal life and Arthur himself standing up to his father, it’s been a long, strange day. He’s more than ready for it to be over.

He starts when Merlin stirs and begins stacking the plates, ready to take them back to the kitchen.

“Leave it, Merlin. Get them in the morning. Go and - ahhhh - get some sleep. Go on. I’m fine.”

Merlin hesitates, lingering by the table, reluctant to leave for some reason. “Are you sure? You look like you’re going to fall asleep right there …”

With an effort, Arthur drags himself to his feet, and musters a tired smirk.

“Much and all as I know you love my company, Merlin yes, I’m sure. Go. Get some sleep. Tomorrow’s probably not going to be any better for any of us.”

“All right. Sire.”

Arthur rolls his eyes and watches as Merlin leaves, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

Arthur sighs, letting out a long breath, before pushing back from the table and nearly stumbling to his bed. Sleep. Whatever tomorrow brings, he will need to be ready to face it.



Merlin makes his way down the corridor towards his and Gaius’ chambers. He’s pleasantly tired, he realises as he walks, his limbs heavy and his mood somewhat light, despite the events of the past day or so.

He believes - possibly irrationally he knows - that Percival will return, be exonerated, be reunited with Owen, and that life in Camelot will go back to … well, what passes for normal, anyway. Percival and Owen will be together, Gwaine will continue sleeping with anyone who stands still long enough to fall for his charms, and Merlin will continue to pine for Arthur, and occasionally save his life when circumstances require it.

“Prat,” he mutters to himself, unsure who he’s referring to - Arthur or - his thoughts cut out on him when he opens the door to Gaius’ chambers. Gwaine is there, standing by the fire, and there’s someone talking to Owen ….

talking to Owen

“You’re awake!” Merlin exclaims, grinning as he closes the door behind him.

“How are you feeling?”

Owen smiles back, almost shy as he lowers his eyes and Merlin can see what Percival sees in him because that look is nearly devastating. “I, um, all right? I mean, sore, but Gaius said I hadn’t broken anything so …”

“That’s good, that’s probably the best news we’ve had today.”

“It might be the only good news for a while,” Gwaine says, grimly, a look that sits badly on his open, friendly face.

“Why, what’s happened? Has Percival … “

Gwaine shakes his head as Gaius moves about in the background, quietly preparing some kind of food.

“No - nothing like that. It’s - Kay, here says he was with Owen when - when he was hurt.”

“It was a couple of - thugs,” Kay says from Owen’s bedside. “We were … working and - “

Merlin holds up his hand, stopping Kay mid-stream.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, but I think Arthur needs to hear this, and to save you telling it twice - let’s all just - get some sleep, yeah? Then you can tell it to all of us at once, in the morning.”

Kay’s jaw clenches but he nods and squeezes Owen’s hand briefly before standing up. “All right. Will you take me back to Agatha’s, Gwaine? I should really be …”

“No. No, you’re staying here, with me. The safest place for you right now, is here in the castle with me. Those thugs know you can identify them, and they could be looking for you. You can sleep in my room.”

Kay raises an eyebrow and puts his hand on his hip, cocking it slightly to one side. “Well, now, sir knight, you know that’s going to cost you … a boy has to eat, after all.”

Gwaine bursts out laughing at that, his grim visage disappearing like mist in the sun. Merlin finds himself relaxing his shoulders, letting tension he didn’t know he was holding on to bleed out of his body. Seeing Gwaine with a face like that … it’s almost as wrong as Percival not being around and Merlin’s oddly reassured by this small return to normal. Maybe things will be okay …

“Brat,” Gwaine says affectionately as Kay moves to stand beside him. “You know I’ve already paid Agatha for the night. If you’re very good, you might earn a bonus …”

Gaius appears from somewhere and makes a shooing motion at them both with his hands. “Go on, out, out! And get some actual sleep, please. No one knows what’s going to happen tomorrow.”

Kay glances over his shoulder at Owen as if to reassure himself that he’s still there.

“Go on, Kay. Go with Gwaine. I’m all right here with Gaius and Merlin. I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re …”

“I’m sure. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Merlin waits until Gwaine and Kay are gone before slumping in the chair by Owen’s bed. He’s surprised into a huge yawn and rubs at his eyes.

“I think … I’m going to go to bed, Gaius,” Merlin says sleepily, pushing himself up from the chair.

“Are you sure dear boy? I’ve made enough for all of us …”

Merlin smiles at that, but he’s already swaying on his feet. “I’m sure. I ate with Arthur, I’m fine.”

He vaguely hears Gaius replying as he stumbles to his own room, aware of familiar, comforting noises behind him, as he shuts his door and does nothing so much as collapse on his bed. He’s asleep before his head hits the pillow.



Continue to Part Three