Chapter Text
It all starts with a sword sharpening incident.
Richard and Galavant had just settled down for the evening. The fire was roaring (thanks to Galavant, of which he was very proud), and the warmth after a long, cold, wet day of walking through the forest felt heavenly. Galavant was leaning against a tree, close to dozing off, when a high pitched yelp startled him awake.
“Oh no, oh no,” Richard whispered, clutching his right hand. Galavant was at his side immediately.
“Let me see,” he says in a commanding voice that usually gets Richard to obey immediately. Richard looks frantic, and seems unable to pull his gaze away from his hand. A thin slice runs down the middle, blood flowing freely. Galavant rips off a piece of his shirt and quickly wraps it around the wound. He later realizes this was quite dramatic, seeing as they have bandages in Gal’s pack not even a few feet away, but he was in the moment.
“What happened?” Gal asks, in an attempt to get Richard to stop looking at his hand like it has just been chopped clean off. He’s even going pale. For a King who has ordered countless executions, beheadings, and other forms of messy slaughter, he does not handle the sight of his own blood well.
“Hey,” he says, grabbing Richard’s chin and turning his face towards him, “Look at me.”
The man has honest to God tears in his eyes.
"I’m sorry, Gal, it's just that I’ve never sharpened my own sword before— I’ve never even owned a sword before, really, Gareth made me carry a dull one for appearances when in reality he did all of the required stabbing, and—” Galavant silences him with a finger on his mouth when he notices that Richard is trembling.
“It's alright,” he says gently. “Just don’t look at it. Keep looking at me. Don't think about it, either.”
“Well now I can't stop thinking about it because you told me not to think about it.”
Galavant sighs, and grabs the canteen of water next to him. “Then we might as well clean and bandage it properly.” Richard’s eyes grow wide.
“It's just water. It may sting a little but you're lucky we don't have any alcohol. Don't look while I do this. Just look at me. Understand?” Richard nods, eyes locked on Gal’s. They are very close. Not the time, Gal.
Galavant carefully removes the bit of shirt, and the wound has luckily stopped bleeding, but it does look fairly nasty. Richard is very obviously trying not to look— his jaw is clenched and his eyes are boring into Gal’s. Gal pours the water over the wound as slowly as he can, but doesn't miss the sharp intake of breath when it makes contact.
“I’m sorry,” he says gently, reaching for the bandages. He begins re-wrapping the wound, and tries to ignore the warmth he feels in his gut as his fingertips glide over Richard’s for a moment. There is another sharp intake of breath at this, and Gal knows he didn't do anything to cause sudden pain. Is the fire too warm?
“There,” Gal says, practically a whisper even though he meant to announce it with some finality. He coughs. “That's better, right?”
Richard keeps staring at him. Have his eyes always been this blue? They're really, really blue.
“Richard.”
“Hmm?” he says, dreamily.
“You can look now.”
“Oh!” Richard is pulled from his menagerie at this, but does not remove his hand from Gal’s as it rests on top of his palm. “It looks good.”
“We’ll have to change the bandage daily, but it should heal fairly quickly.”
“Yes, yes, excellent. Thank you, Gal.” Richard pulls his hand away, now, scooting away and pretending to examine it closely. Gal hopes he didn't do something wrong, but Richard is odd, and he leaves it at that. If the loss of contact leaves him feeling a bit empty, well, that's his business.
Galavant bids Richard goodnight, and they sleep on opposite sides of the fire which is suddenly not warm enough.
Richard seems off the next day. He shies away from all contact, even going as far as doing a full twirl to avoid Galavant’s friendly clap on the back. He says it's because his hand hurts. Gal doesn't push, but if he’s honest, it hurts his feelings a little. Richard is usually a big fan of friendly affection, and they are always walking with their shoulders bumping and sitting with their legs pressed against one another. He misses it, he realizes, when the day is winding down.
Richard even asks to re-bandage his wound himself. “I can do it”, he insists, almost pleading as he grabs the bandages from Gal. Gal hesitantly agrees, but keeps a close eye on him. Richard does end up doing it himself, but Gal has to try very hard not to intervene as he watches his trembling hands try and fail to tie the bandage multiple times, before he simply tucks the bandage underneath itself in a loose hold and huffs. He still does not ask for Galavant’s help.
The silence is palpable. Even the fire seems to be crackling less than usual, until Richard speaks, so softly Gal almost doesn't hear him.
“I think I may be in love,” he says, and Gal’s heart definitely doesn't seize up.
“Oh?” he says, feigning interest. “Tell me about them,” he says, just to prove to himself that he is totally okay with Richard being in love with someone. He should be jumping for joy, really, since it means Richard will stop being so dependent on him. Right?
“Well,” Richard starts, “They're very strong. And handsome.”
A man, then. That's fine, Gal tells himself, pointedly ignoring the why not me? in the back of his head. Maybe he met someone in the Enchanted Forest.
“And they believe in me, even though no one else does. They make me feel like I can do anything, really.”
Gal has a sudden realization. It's Gareth. It has to be. Strong, handsome, and he’s been with Richard since the beginning. An invisible knife twists in Galavant’s stomach.
“They sound like a real catch,” he says, not entirely succeeding at keeping the spite out of his voice. Richard merely responds with a sound of agreement. It is silent for a while, until Richard once again speaks up.
“Tell me about your love,” he says, as if that isn't opening the biggest can of worms in the history of canned worms.
“Oh, well, they're, uh… A huge pain in my ass, if I’m being honest.” No lie there. Richard doesn't respond, just simply waits for more.
“But they're also one of the most kind hearted people I’ve ever met,” he admits. “And their eyes are really, really blue. Sometimes when I look at them I feel like I’m looking into the sea.”
“Doesn't Isabella have brown eyes?” Richard asks curiously, and Gal panics. Oh no. Oh no. Back up. Why did he say blue eyes?
“Uh, did I say blue? I meant brown. And I meant the… sand… not sea. It's like I’m looking at the sand. You know, warm, brown. Well more like tan, really, but you get the idea. Brown .” Smooth. More silence. Gal is, like, three seconds away from a panic attack but all he can do is scream in his head as he waits for Richard to say something. He waits a long time. Why hasn't Richard said anything?
“Thank you, Gal.” is all he gets before Richard turns on his side to sleep.
Great job, Gal.