Chapter Text
Gwaine shakes out his mess of tangled dark brown strands, shaking water from himself like a dog ridding itself of rain from it’s fur, and Lancelot nearly laughs, nearly. But for all the world, his eyes aren’t laughing when they meet green brown orbs.
There’s a grin on Gwaine’s face which Lancelot can only translate as Roguish, and he’s not so sure he likes it, but Arthur likes it less and has voiced it several times.
“Tell me again what we’re doing here? Searching for whatever it is we’re searching for...” Lancelot’s eyes are downcast and narrowing at the loud volume of the other male’s deep brogue, hardly a tone for sneaking around a castle in the dead of night... Morgana’s castle, to be quite truthful.
“Gwaine, keep your tongue or I’ll cut it out myself, hear me? I don’t want to get captured by the enemy because of your loud tone.” Arthur says it out of a sheer anger, it burning on his face in the inky half light, illuminated by the hazy rays of torches in their brackets along the hall.
“We are searching for the Sans Grail... not that I haven’t told you a dozen times over, but it’s not like a pretty knight like yourself has room to hold on to that information, all you have to do is muscle your way through, and pray you can get to the ale house before it closes, since that seems to be all you do and all you’re good for. Fighting and drinking, I’ll tell you that I hardly pass a day without hearing of Sir Gwaine the boisterous or Sir Gwaine the flirt, as if a knight of Camelot should be such a disgraceful example to the people he serves.” It’s said out of an uncharacteristic strike of anger, and the honorable knight beside his king, feels regret as soon as it’s out from behind Arthur’s lips. It’s not all together true, and Arthur feels regret for his words.
There’s an apology there too, but Gwaine doesn’t hear it. He’s staring at Arthur with a deep pain in his eyes, a few straggling pieces of wet hair, plastered against his pale rain streaked forehead
“That’s all you think of me? All you think me capable of? I thought I didn’t have anything more to prove to you, Arthur, I thought you knew me, but I guess — I was wrong, I guess my only true friend was Merlin and now he is dead, and I couldn’t even keep him safe from that.” Lancelot can see the tears streaming down with the rain, feels his own cascading down, mixing with the blood and mud as he notes the determined reckless look on Gwaine’s face, as the man charges round the corner, drawing the attention of many of Morgana’s men, and running off down the corridor. Lancelot had made a brief attempt to grab him back by his hauberk, but his fingers had only dusted over the chain mail before Gwaine was gone.
Lancelot sent his king a disapproving look before charging out after his fellow knight.
He’ll talk with Arthur later... if they indeed make it out alive.