A chapter from "Gwaine and Wynne"

          A week had passed since the battle between Arthur and the North Kings, and things at Camelot were once again settling into a regular routine. The knights who had been injured in the attack and the ensuing battle had either fully recovered or were at least on the mend. All except Gwaine. He still lay unconscious on a pallet in the small, dimly-lit room adjacent to Gaius and Merlin’s quarters, a large gash still gaping down his shoulder and onto his chest. Gaius had applied every healing poultice he knew to draw out the infection and had drizzled teaspoon after teaspoon of tinctures down his throat, with little or no change in Gwaine’s condition.
         Merlin had even tried his magic, uttering every spell he knew and searching the palace book collection for new spells, all to no avail. Concern and frustration clouded the young warlock’s eyes as he stared down at the motionless knight after trying yet another unsuccessful spell. He barely looked up as Gaius entered the room and came to quietly stand next to him. “What good is my magic if I can’t heal him?” Merlin asked bitterly. “And how can I ever hope to convince Arthur that magic is good if I can’t even find a spell to save the knight who took the sword to save him?”
         Gaius was silent for a moment. He knew the bond that had grown between these two solitary men, and it pained him to see the sorrow and helplessness in Merlin’s eyes. Merlin was not so young and naïve as to be blind to the possibility that Gwaine would not pull through. At last Gaius turned his rheumy eyes to Merlin and replied, “Merlin, your powers are strong, and you can do much good with them, but you need to remember that there are powers in the universe that are even stronger than the strongest magic. If it is Gwaine’s time, then there is naught that we can do.”
          Merlin’s face crumbled as he tried to hold back the tears that had welled up in his eyes at his mentor’s words. He knew those words were true, but he could not—would not—accept them. A sudden thought came to him, and he said with wild desperation, “But even if he does pass, what about calling back his spirit? There are spells to do that. Morgana did it; why couldn’t I?”
          Gaius faced Merlin and grasped his arms, giving him a shake. “Merlin, think what you’re saying! You know you can’t breach the barrier between the living and the dead without consequences. Remember the durocha? As for Morgana, surely you recall that she did not truly bring back Lancelot, but only a shade.” His expression softened, and he finished more kindly, “As much as we all love Gwaine, surely you wouldn’t want him here if he were only a shadow of his real self?”
          A single sob escaped Merlin’s throat, and he balled his hands into fists, trying unsuccessfully to stop the tears that now flowed freely. Gaius laid a hand on Merlin’s back, his own eyes growing moist with emotion. Finally, Merlin squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, they shone with determination and resolve. He turned to Gaius. “I know you’re right. I can’t bear the thought of losing Gwaine, but it would be even more painful to see his physical body here without Gwaine’s essence.” The resolve in his eyes faded a bit as sorrow threatened to overtake him again.
          Gaius looked up at Merlin with concern in his eyes. “Merlin, as much as I know you would miss Gwaine’s friendship if he were to pass, I have complete confidence that you would carry on. But between you and I, I am not so certain that would be the case with someone else.”
          Merlin cocked his head questioningly at Gaius as he wondered to whom he was referring. With a flash of realization, his eyes flew open wide, and he exclaimed, “Wynne!”
          Gaius nodded gravely. “I’m sure you’ve noticed, as I have, that Wynne loves Gwaine deeply. Lady Magdalen noticed some time ago, but she believed it to be just a passing fancy. I feel she is wrong; Wynne’s devotion to Gwaine is real, and I believe it is forever. If our worst fears are realized and Gwaine dies…”
          A loud crash and a choked sob made both men whirl around to face the door. There stood Wynne, the hem of her dress splattered with food and ale from the tray she had dropped upon hearing Gaius’ words. She leaned against the doorframe, her eyes wide with horror as she bit down on her knuckle to keep from crying out again. Merlin stood frozen, but Gaius started towards her, holding out his hands to her. “Wynne, please…”
          Shaking her head, Wynne slowly backed out of the room. “No, Gaius, you’re wrong,” she protested, her voice low but frantic. “Gwaine won’t die. He can’t. He can’t!” She turned and ran blindly down the passageway and through the palace. As she came around the corner to the staircase, she ran headlong into Arthur and Guinevere. Without an apology or even acknowledging them, she pushed past them and stumbled up the stairs towards her chamber, stll sobbing uncontrollably.
          “Wynne, what is it?” Guinevere asked urgently, dashing up several steps after her before turning back to stare dumbfounded at Arthur.
          When Wynne refused to stop or respond to Guinevere, Arthur called out, “Lady Wynifred, what’s the matter with you?”
          Arthur’s eyes met Guinevere’s, his full of affronted indignation, and hers full of confused concern. Suddenly, both their eyes widened with realization, and both exclaimed, “Gwaine!”
          Guinevere grabbed Arthur’s arms and said as calmly as she could under the circumstances, “You go to Gaius and find out what’s happened. I’ll tend to Wynne.” Unshed tears stood in her eyes, but she knew this was not the time to cry.
          Arthur, too, had tears in his eyes, but seeing his queen holding back her own tears, he knew he must do the same. He stood taller and raised his chin, mentally preparing himself for whatever news Gaius would give him. He nodded at Gwen and replied, “Of course, Gwen. You’re right; that’s a good plan.” As he turned to go, his mind raced with emotions that threatened to overwhelm him—guilt over the angry words he’d shouted at Gwaine before going in to battle, anger and betrayal over the unexpected attack by the North Kings, sadness over seeing the once strong and vibrant Gwaine lying near death after taking a sword that was meant for him. He quickened his pace, not wanting to hear whatever awful news had sent young Lady Wynifred running tearfully through the palace, but knowing he must get it over with as quickly as possible.