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Gawain rushes into Joyous Guard with his blade drawn, and the sight of his brother Gaheris bleeding out on the concrete just a short while ago is burned into his retinas. He once considered this house Lancelot had made for them a refuge, a place worthy of the title Joyous, but now it’s tainted with nothing but betrayal and blood.
He steps quietly through the castle in hopes that he’ll find Arthur and the others alive in here somewhere, though with the way Gaheris was mutilated just outside the door his hopes are fleeting. Gawain clears the entrance of the castle, stepping over the naive warriors who attempted to take on Lancelot and fell to his blade. He keeps his sword at the ready as he enters the next room of the castle and stills as he turns to find a ghost-- it must be a ghost, for he held Gareth’s dead body in his hands not weeks ago. The breath floods out of Gawain’s lungs as Gareth stands in front of him-- alive, breathing, and with tears streaming down his face.
“Gareth,” says Gawain in a desperate and trembling voice. “Where is he?” Gawain struggles to keep his sword steady as his hands tremble at the sight of his beloved brother. Gareth shutters out a breath, trying to contain his sobs as he quickly glances over his brother’s shoulder and through the doorway. Catching the movement, Gawain’s eyes flutter shut, and his body tenses. He’s not ready to face Lancelot-- he doesn’t think he’ll ever be-- but he squares his shoulders and slowly turns to face the man he had once come to love with all his heart, that he still loves with everything he is.
Nothing could have prepared Gawain for the pain he feels when he opens his eyes to find Lancelot with blood spattered on his face and clothes and his red hilted sword dripping with it by his side. Gawain chokes out a sob as he stumbles back away from Lancelot. This isn’t Lancelot, not anymore. The Lancelot who once held Gawain’s face so gently and lovingly, as if he were holding his entire world in the palms of his hands, is gone, and replaced by the monster in front of him. Lancelot’s eyes that had before been warm pools of comfort are now glazed over and cold, and the dimpled smile that always seemed to be at home on his face is replaced with a firm line.
“Arthur was supposed to call a truce. We weren’t supposed to fight anymore,” chokes out Gawain with labored breath. “You were supposed to leave.”
“We couldn’t just leave without you,” says Lancelot with a flat voice. He closes the distance between him and Gawain, softly laying a hand on his cheek.
Gawain squeezes his eyes closed and leans into the warmth of Lancelot’s hand. The blood that seems to cover it wets his skin and the metallic smell makes him wince. Gawain drops his sword to the ground and the clatter of the metal meeting stone echoes through the castle over the clipped sobs and wracked breathing. He takes his now trembling free hand and clutches Lancelot’s closer to his cheek, the other moving to grip Lancelot’s forearm. Gawain thinks that if he can hold Lancelot here with his eyes clamped shut, he can pretend that this isn’t happening; that they are up in Lancelot’s chambers of the Guard and the feuding is far, far away from them. Tears pour down Gawain’s face as Lancelot’s thumb caresses his cheek, but the blood Lancelot smears under his eye brings him back to reality. Gawain loves Lancelot so much-- too much-- so much that he hates him. But Lancelot will betray Gawain as he has betrayed Lancelot, and Gawain shall kiss the hand that does him wrong. Gawain finally forces his eyes to open and Lancelot returns his gaze with regret in his eyes. Gawain hadn’t seen any emotion in those eyes for so long it nearly breaks him.
“I’m so sorry, my love,” forces out Lancelot with tears starting to spill over his cheeks. “I never wanted this--I never wanted to hurt you--but there’s no other choice for me now.”
“Lance-” Before Gawain can finish, Lancelot’s sword is thrust through his stomach and tearing into his flesh with a sharp twist. Gawain lets out an agonized scream as the blade is pulled from him and clatters to the ground. He’s screaming, gasping for breath, and choking on his tears as Lancelot pulls Gawain into a tight embrace; his strong arms wrapping around Gawain are the only thing keeping the man upright. Lancelot shushes Gawain with a hand raking through his hair as he eases his love to the floor. Gawain can feel Lancelot mumbling something into his ear, but the words are lost to the ringing and screaming escaping his lungs. Once Gawain is finally lowered to the floor Lancelot presses desperate kisses across his face: over his eyes, his cheeks, his lips. It’s almost soothing to be betrayed with a kiss. Lancelot clambers to his feet and looks down to Gawain who clamps a hand to his abdomen in a futile hope to stop the blood that’s already covering the floor around him.
Gawain tries to regain his senses and props himself up on the wall. When his eyes meet Lancelot’s, his heart starts to crumble. “No, Lancelot, please,” begs Gawain. “Not him, please .” Above him, Lancelot has Gareth pinned with a knife to his neck. Gareth is shaking; his eyes pleading as he stammers out apologies and begs for his life.
“I have to finish this, Gawain. I have to fix this.” Lancelot’s eyes turn cold once again, and he glides the knife across Gareth’s throat. The blood splatters across Gawain’s face and Gareth falls to the floor beside him, flopping and drowning in his own blood. Gawain cries out and tries to pull himself to his brother, a hand fumbling to cover the wound at his neck, but Gawain is too weak. Orkney blood mixes and pools around them as Gawain slumps to the floor with no energy left to fight. His breathing is weak and shallow as he looks one last time to Lancelot hovering in the doorway. Gawain can see his lips move, forming a last I love you, but the ringing drowns the words away, not that they’d matter here at the end of all things. As Gawain watches Lancelot turn away from him and walk towards the exit of Joyous Guard, his heart breaks for a final time and his eyes slide shut.