[fic] The Ivy Crown, 4c/9

[da_ya_ri]

The fires still roared and the fiddlers still played for all they were worth, but when Gwaine nearly toppled over into the flames for the third time, he got the nagging suspicion that he was getting too drunk to dance.

He never actually counted how many goblets or mugs he drank, but he hazily remembered repeated trips to the edge of the clearing whenever dancing had made him thirsty, and well, it wasn't his fault that the cider and the spiced wine tasted that good.

The throng of dancers was thinning progressively, and he suspected that a few of the villagers had sneaked away into the woods with their sweethearts. He'd automatically looked around for Arthur the first time he'd seen a couple duck under the treeline, grinning in anticipation at the baffled embarrassment that would surely appear on the prince's features when he realized where they were going and why. Somehow, he got the feeling that Arthur hadn't gotten into touch with the more rural rituals of Beltane feasts, since he couldn't imagine any of Camelot's high and mighty courtiers stealing away into the night for a quick shag.

But he hadn't found Arthur, and realized at about the same time that he couldn't find Merlin either. Merlin had been standing off to the side for the entire evening, with such a subdued air about him that Gwaine hadn't quite dared trying to drag him into the circle of dancers and throw a girl at him. He had noticed that Merlin had been drinking rather too much wine, though (well, by his standards—it wouldn't even have sufficed to make Gwaine feel woozy).

Of course it was none of his business if Merlin wanted to drown his sorrows in alcohol, but somehow, Gwaine had gotten the feeling that that wasn't what Merlin intended to do. He'd kept glancing over at Arthur, who looked somewhat subdued as well, and swallowed another mouthful of watered-down wine whenever he managed to jerk his gaze away again. His eyes had gone progressively glassier, a high, unhealthy flush climbing to his cheeks as the alcohol entered his bloodstream and likely made him nauseous, if the pinched look on his face had been anything to go by.

Finally, Gwaine had sauntered over to him in a break between two dances, and asked Merlin whether he wanted to wake up with the mother of all hangovers the next morning. He'd mentally patted himself on the back for how tactful he'd been, since that wasn't usually his strong suit, but Merlin didn't even seem to have heard him. His gaze veered off towards Arthur, and he'd mumbled something about sitting on Arthur's right. Gwaine had barely managed to hold back a snort, and almost wondered aloud whether Merlin wouldn't rather sit in Arthur's lap, but bit back the snide comment on second thought.

He'd left Merlin to his drinking—he wasn't the right person to play moralizer anyway—and joined the dancers again, thinking that the drinking was probably an aftereffect of the afternoon's confrontation. Having made the vague decision to try to talk to Merlin in the morning when his defenses were likely to be weakened by a hangover, he gladly let himself be tugged back into the clearing by the nameless girl he'd been dancing with.

Twirling the chambermaid around again, Gwaine barely managed to hold her up when she stumbled against him, drunkenly giggling into his tunic. Despite the pleasant wooziness that engulfed his mind, he couldn't help rolling his eyes when he felt her breasts pressed up against his chest and the thigh she was clumsily trying to shove between his knees. Normally he wouldn't mind being taken advantage of, but the girl was even drunker than he was, and likely engaged to one of the farmers.

She didn't even seem to realize that her advances had been rejected when he gently pushed her away—she just tugged him around to face the other row of dancers again, stumbling and steadying herself against his side. They merged back into the crowd, although Gwaine took care not to spin her around quite as vigorously this time. The bards were playing a bit more slowly than they had at the beginning of the evening, probably to adjust to the rather worse dancing abilities of the throng of drunk people.

The thought made Gwaine grin again, and he found himself suddenly wishing that Percival were here—it would have been a source of epic hilarity to watch him try to fend off similar advances like the one the girl had just made on him. He could just picture the helpless, even terrified look Percival would wear as he struggled to keep his messily drunk dancing partner at arm's length without touching her too much.

A farmer bumped into him from behind, and Gwaine stumbled as the man ended up sprawled on the ground, to the sound of raucous—though not unfriendly—laughter from a few onlookers. He was grinning up at Gwaine, though, and so he disengaged his arm from around the girl's waist, and reached down to help him up.

"Alright there, mate?" the farmer slurred at him when he was pulled back up into a standing position, as if Gwaine had been the one to fall over. Gwaine blinked for a moment to dispel the dizziness that had nearly overtaken him when he'd leaned over, but the man clapped him on the arm—he'd probably been aiming for his shoulder—and stumbled back into the crowd.

When Gwaine turned back around to face his dancing partner again, he saw a sliver of green from the corner of his eye, the billow of a wind-tugged shirt disappearing behind the broad back of a burly red-faced villager.

He blinked again, and stared at the spot, the motion of the dancers making him dizzy. For a moment he was sure he'd imagined it, but then he saw it again, a flicker of color as deep as summer leaves, impossibly bright in the dim light, cutting through the hazy, earthen swirl of colors that the firelight had turned the villagers into.

The girl said something, looking up at him with glazed, slightly puzzled eyes, but Gwaine barely heard her voice over the sudden roar of blood in his ears. He tugged his hand out of her questioning grasp and dove into the swaying crowd, eyes never leaving the spot where he'd last seen the flash of green.

It felt like he'd been plunged into a basin of icy water, like he sometimes did with his head after a long night of drinks to sober himself up in time for patrol. His heart was pounding, the world splitting into a confusing jumble of noises and blurred colors as he stumbled over his own feet and staggered into the other dancers more than once, but he didn't stop. Couldn't stop, really, because he'd just seen it again, a long stretch of bright green next to a fire, soft fabric pulling tight over a set of broad shoulders. And green wasn't all that unusual a color to wear on Beltane eve, but this time Gwaine saw the shock of disheveled long hair, gleaming and blacker than even the sky in the firelight, and he sped up his steps into a near-run.

This close to the bonfires, even the bards' merry tune was drowned out by the roar of the flames; it struck Gwaine as oddly ironic that the sound reminded him of the crashing surf at Treffynnon. The laughing chatter of the villagers seemed to grow distant behind him, fading more with each of his long, slightly uncoordinated strides. He stopped for a brief moment when he'd reached the gap between two of the fires, absently noticing that he'd just completed the purification ritual.

Narrowing his eyes against the glare of the flames, Gwaine slowly looked around the clearing; every breath felt like he was inhaling the fire he was standing next to, and he still felt light-headed, but also strangely alive, as though a string within him had been plucked by that first glance of a familiar green shirt. Then he caught sight of something under the trees at the far side of the clearing, something he would have missed if he hadn't been looking so closely—a flash of light reflected by polished metal, a gleaming arc like the freshly sharpened blade of an axe.

He was in motion again before he could second-guess himself, rounding the bonfire he'd stopped at, barely noticing that his neck was prickling with sweat in the heat, until he suddenly bumped into Lancelot. In any other situation he would have laughed, clapped his fellow knight on the back and asked him if the girls had given up trying to win him over for a dance, but right now, he barely spared him a second glance.

"Gwaine?" Lancelot asked, confused, but Gwaine barely heard him, the sound of his voice echoing in his ears as though from a great distance. Gwaine paid him no heed, just strode around him and jogged towards the treeline, leaving the bonfires behind.

The night air descended around him like a cloak, engulfing him in surprising coolness after the warmth of the fires—his eyes were slow in adjusting to the darkness, and oddly-colored afterimages of dancing flames kept flickering across his vision whenever he blinked. But he didn't stop until he reached the treeline, and a sudden gust of wind whipped his hair out of his face, the trees groaning as though in protest. Leaves rustled all around him, and the branches seemed to reach for him as Gwaine stepped around an ancient oak and peered into the darkness behind.

His first thought was that the wreath of ivy in the Green Knight's hair didn't look all that out of place here, barely two furlongs from the villagers' Beltane feast. Then he thought that the man seemed to have been waiting for him—he'd been leaning against the tree, arms folded across his chest, but now he was pushing himself away from the trunk. He took a single step towards Gwaine, his arms hanging loosely at his sides as if he'd consciously chosen the least threatening position, and then he just stood there, and let Gwaine look at him for a long moment.

In the dim light, his clothes looked darker, although Gwaine could see that they were still the same arrangement of different shades of green that he'd worn at the feast. If anything, he might actually have been wearing the same clothes back then—it was all there, the sturdy vest and the shirt, the belt with the huge battle axe and the finely spun trousers, tucked neatly into leather boots. The axe's blade was gleaming in the moonlight, though, rather than shimmering dully from underneath a coat of rust and moss.

"I found you," Gwaine said at last, a bit stupidly, his wits still dulled by residual alcohol. It didn't seem to matter what he said, as long as he just broke the silence, because the man was just looking back at him, his calm stare never leaving Gwaine's eyes as though he'd be content to stand there and hold his gaze until dawn.

"You found me," the Green Knight agreed, and inclined his head—his voice was still the same, raspy and strangely warm, although he'd pitched his tone low, like he didn't want to disturb the nocturnal quietude of the forest, in spite of the celebration going on in the clearing.

Gwaine found himself grinning for some reason, and a strange liquid sensation ran through his stomach, the release of a tension that he hadn't even noticed until it snapped. A faint breeze was stirring the Green Knight's hair, and he could see the ivy peek out from between black strands, the leaves shimmering even in the dim light.

The handle of the axe was also wrapped up in green twines, but with the way the Green Knight was keeping his hands well clear of it, Gwaine didn't think he was in for a fight, or at least not yet. The thought made him grin even more widely, and he propped a casual hand on his hip, giving the man a slow once-over. "Fancy a dance?"

Cocking his head, the Green Knight smiled at him, eyes narrow and amused, strangely fey in the smooth angular planes of his features. His face was just as beardless as it had been the day of the feast, but he didn't look young—if anything, a beard probably would have made him look younger than he seemed right now.

"Not a dance of that sort, if that's what you're asking," he replied, tilting his chin towards the bonfires, and Gwaine couldn't help the snort of laughter that escaped him. The Green Knight smiled back, a twitch of his mouth that was short-lived but genuine, like he was quietly pleased about Gwaine's mirth.

Vaguely, Gwaine remembered the ivy-engulfed houses he'd seen, the sturdy twines and lush green leaves that had obviously been coaxed to grow by magic. He hadn't been scared then, and oddly enough, he wasn't scared now either, although he was well aware that if the Green Knight truly had magic, he could have killed Gwaine with a flick of his wrist before he'd begun to reach for the dagger he wasn't even wearing.

There was a rustle of grass behind him, and Gwaine probably would have whirled around if the Green Knight's right hand had so much as stirred towards his axe; but his stance remained completely at ease, and so Gwaine didn't even twitch. "You," Lancelot's voice said at his back, but he didn't sound angry or threatening, just surprised and a bit wary.

The Green Knight gave Lancelot a quick, assessing glance, to check whether he posed any threat, and seemed to dismiss him after a second's thought. His gaze returned to Gwaine, and this time he almost felt it, a noticeable but gentle weight settling on his shoulders like a thick padded cloak.

There was a short, heavy silence, only disrupted by the distant crackle of the fires and bits and pieces of jaunty tunes, swept over to the treeline by the wind. Gwaine felt his heart thud against his ribs, beating out an uneven rhythm, and he found that for some reason he couldn't look away from the Green Knight's eyes. They were green, which was not surprising in itself, but they didn't reflect the firelight, and the longer he looked, the darker they seemed to get, like a fathomless well plummeting down and down into the chasm of time with no hopes of ever reaching the ground.

More footsteps came from behind him, and this time Gwaine disengaged his gaze with some difficulty—Merlin, Arthur and Leon were walking towards them with quick strides, Arthur's hand immediately twitching towards his belt once he caught sight of the Green Knight. With detached amusement, Gwaine noticed that Leon did the same, and both of them looked slightly distressed once they realized they'd come to the celebrations unarmed. Merlin's mouth had fallen open in surprise a second ago, and now he quickly glanced from Arthur to the Green Knight and back, his stance straightening.

It could only have been a trick of the light, but it looked like Merlin stepped closer to Arthur, almost in front of him, as though to protect him in case the Green Knight suddenly took a swing at him with his axe. Fortunately the prince didn't notice, since Gwaine was certain that if he had, Merlin would have gotten shoved back about two seconds ago. Come to think of it, Merlin's features looked strangely closed off, his usual expressiveness hidden behind a wary shroud and a flicker of curiosity. He looked like he was prepared to react to whatever the Green Knight's next step would be, but like he didn't really want to come to blows with him. Which didn't make sense, Gwaine thought, frowning a little—the man was just as broadly built as Arthur, although he was more on the lithe side.

The Green Knight was looking at Merlin as well, recognition flickering across his features for the briefest of moments. "You need not worry, Emrys," he said, and inclined his head. He didn't bow, but he might as well have—the gesture said more than a bow anyway, and Gwaine was surprised at the respect in his eyes when he looked up again. His face was intent and calm, and almost smiling, as though he felt genuinely honored by Merlin's presence. "I do not intend to harm you."

Emrys? Gwaine wondered silently, and saw Arthur give Merlin a puzzled look as well. It was odd to hear the Green Knight slip back into the same formal speech pattern he'd used at the feast, while he had sounded fairly colloquial even during those short few sentences he'd exchanged with Gwaine, although Gwaine couldn't quite place his accent.

Merlin didn't reply; the wariness on his face hardened and he edged closer to Arthur again, but this time the prince noticed. He exhaled an audible, exasperated sigh, though the glance he gave Merlin was more offended than irritated, and took a pointed step away from his manservant, straightening up and squaring his shoulders as he met the Green Knight's gaze squarely.

"What is your business here in Maneshale?" Arthur asked, courteously enough, but in the commanding tone of somebody who was used to having his questions answered. "I should think you troubled these villagers enough when you disposed of their lord."

Gwaine flinched a little, barely holding back a grimace—he had to give it to Arthur, he didn't mince his words when he meant business. His eyes looked cold and flat as stone in the dim light, and Gwaine recognized what he'd dubbed the prince's court mask in the hardened line of his jaw. Leon took a careful step towards Arthur's other side, and from the way he looked over Gwaine's shoulder for a moment, Gwaine knew he'd locked eyes with Lancelot, though whether in warning or reassurance, he couldn't tell.

The distant serenity in the Green Knight's gaze didn't waver, but if Gwaine hadn't been looking at him so closely, he would have missed the brief, nearly unnoticeable flicker of remorse that flashed through his eyes, like sparks disappearing into a void. It gave him only a moment's pause, though, because after a second he spoke again, his voice decisive, although strangely subdued at the same time. "My quarrel is not with you, your majesty."

Gwaine did a slight double take at the honorific, but Arthur didn't so much as blink. "You murdered Sir Ricbert, Sir Gromer Somer Joure, Sir Gilbert de Venables, and God knows how many others that we haven't found yet," he retorted, listing the names with cold precision, and a distant corner of Gwaine's mind silently commended him for even remembering them. "Your quarrel is with me."

"The Man of the Summer Day would have been usurped before long," the Green Knight countered, and for the first time Gwaine heard a hint of steel in his voice too. "His people are better off without him."

With mild surprise, Gwaine realized that he was talking about Sir Gromer Somer Joure, although by a different name. Arthur caught on fairly quickly as well, judging from how his features hardened almost imperceptibly, but he didn't reply right away—he shifted his weight, broadening his stance in an unconsciously defensive gesture.

"You seem to pick your fights very carefully," Arthur said after a short pause, apparently not willing to let the matter go just like that, even if he might secretly have agreed. "Why else would you only attack potential vassals of Camelot?"

The steel disappeared, and when the Green Knight spoke again he sounded subdued once more—almost as though he'd been anticipating this conversation for a long time, and found himself unaccountably tired of how often he'd turned it over in his mind. "They are not fights, your majesty, and I have attacked no one who didn't know what he was getting into when he faced my challenge."

This time Arthur noticed the honorific, and twitched as though to chase away an annoying fly. "I'm not king yet," he stated, and Gwaine was surprised to hear the prickly irritation undermining the prince's tone, an uncomfortable, almost guilty inflection that sounded thoroughly foreign in Arthur's voice.

The Green Knight smiled at that, and the ivy rustled in his hair when he cocked his head. "Aren't you?"

Spurred by a dangerous spark in his eyes, Arthur opened his mouth, ready to cut the Green Knight down to size with harsh words, forbidding him to ever disregard his father's authority again. But then the words seemed to sink in, and after a long look at the Green Knight's untroubled eyes revealed no taunt, Arthur remained silent, although a muscle in his cheek twitched.

It might have been a trick of the dim light, but a slow flush seemed to be creeping up his neck, like he'd noticed that everyone was carefully avoiding each other's eyes, and no one else spoke up in the king's defense either. Merlin was looking at Arthur, though, and while his gaze seemed sympathetic, a soft, absent smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth, like he had seen this coming all along.

"I see you have brought Camelot's finest fighters with you," the Green Knight stated, startling them out of the brief, uncomfortable silence. When Gwaine looked at him again, his gaze was skimming all of them, resting briefly on each knight as though to silently appraise their strengths and weaknesses. The barest dipping of his head included Merlin in the statement as well, and this time Gwaine saw Merlin's ears redden at the tips, although he didn't flinch from the man's green eyes and held his head high.

After a moment, the Green Knight rested one hand on his axe, the movement oddly impressive after he'd stood in complete stillness for so long. "I regret that I did not get to sample the strength of the court," he continued, and while his voice was jovial enough, he still seemed to choose his words carefully, "although I would not be averse to being granted a second chance to do so now."

Despite the tension in the air, Gwaine didn't even try to suppress his grin. Carefully veiled the challenge might have been, it was a challenge nonetheless, and by the straightening of backs all around him, the others recognized it as well. Somebody less proud might have backed down and used the way out that the Green Knight was ever-courteously providing them with, especially if one considered the fact that magic seemed to be afoot, if the ivy-covered houses were anything to go by.

Arthur just drew himself up to his full height, though, leveling a haughty glance at the man before him. "You proposed an exchange of one blow for another at the feast," he said, his voice decisive, leaving no room for argument—a subtle hint at the rest of them to back off and let him handle this. "Are your conditions still the same?"

"They are, your majesty," the Green Knight confirmed, and this time Arthur didn't protest. "I see that all of you are unarmed, as befits an evening such as this, and I will lend my weapon to whomever chooses to wield it."

He drew his axe in a smooth, practiced motion, and propped the handle up on the ground, resting his hands on the poll much like he had at the feast. The axe looked fairly heavy, fit to cleave a skull in two if wielded with both hands—Gwaine eyed the ivy a bit warily, but somehow he didn't think it would grow up his arms and strangle him if he so much as touched the handle. He had no idea why, but he didn't even want to convince himself that the Green Knight would cheat, that there was some sort of trap hidden beneath his straightforward words.

"Good," Arthur said, and Gwaine flinched, startled out of his thoughts. The prince stepped forward like Gwaine had known he would, but he still couldn't suppress the irrational disappointment that welled up in him—he had missed his chance at the feast as they'd been interrupted by Uther, and it seemed foolish to try to contest Arthur's claim on the challenge now.

Merlin hissed something that Gwaine didn't quite catch but that sounded like don't; predictably, Arthur ignored him. "I accept the terms and will face your challenge."

To Gwaine's surprise, the Green Knight didn't look thrilled or even impressed. He just gave Arthur a long, searching look, took in his ready stance and the firm assurance with which he met his gaze, and finally let out a long sigh, like he'd known that Arthur might step up, but had hoped that he wouldn't.

Merlin's face looked paler than normal in the moonlight, and Gwaine saw that he had his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his gaze flickering back and forth between Arthur and the Green Knight, like he was mentally preparing himself to intervene. Arthur seemed a bit puzzled that his words weren't met with more enthusiasm, but for a moment the Green Knight looked torn, a deep-seated distress flashing through his eyes. He inhaled deeply, like he already regretted his next words, but knew that they needed to be said.

"My axe," he began, stroking a careful finger down the blade as though to test its sharpness, "does not tolerate dishonesty."

For a moment nobody spoke, and somebody, perhaps Leon, drew in a sharp breath as the carefully-veiled insult sunk in. Arthur stared at him, fairly stunned before the words fully registered with him—Gwaine braced himself when his eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth, but the prince was intercepted before he could speak.

"How can you hope to face this challenge," the Green Knight continued, almost imploringly now, "when you can be honest with the maiden whose heart belongs to your best knight—," and Gwaine wasn't all that surprised to see him glance at Lancelot, "—but not with yourself?"

His green eyes came to rest on Merlin for a long moment before they returned to Arthur, spanning the distance between them with the slowness of heavy meaning. Gwaine saw Merlin's throat bob as he swallowed, but he carefully kept his features from betraying any emotion, so that when Arthur followed the Green Knight's gaze to him, he was prepared for the exchange of a confused glance.

"Watch your tongue," Arthur said coldly, his voice like the lash of a whip. He seemed more baffled than offended—he was probably wondering how the Green Knight had known about Lancelot, though the full meaning of the words escaped Gwaine.

And they had to be holding at least a measure of truth, since Arthur didn't protest—the Green Knight inclined his head at him, though, looking like he almost regretted having dealt that low blow. The prince's flush was more pronounced now, and after that brief look, he appeared to take great care to avoid so much as glancing in Merlin's general direction. Merlin shifted closer to him again, although he seemed distinctly uncomfortable as well.

There was a short, somewhat puzzled silence as the exchange ground to a halt, and nobody seemed to know how to defuse the awkward tension in the air. At least Arthur wasn't insisting on rising to the challenge—something about the Green Knight's words must have thrown him off-kilter, shocked him out of his usual stubbornness. A quick glance revealed that Lancelot had blushed a deep red, looking even darker because of his tan, and was studying the tips of his boots like they were the most interesting things he'd ever seen. Leon's eyes, on the other hand, were flickering back and forth between Merlin and Arthur, and Gwaine thought he looked strangely knowing, although he wasn't sure why.

At any rate, it seemed to fall to him to graciously save the day. He straightened up, and took a deep breath of the cool night air, pleased to feel that the vague haziness of wine had almost entirely left his head by now. At any rate, he was nowhere near drunk enough not to be able to wield an axe anymore, especially one this large—his aim would have had to be seriously off if he didn't manage to hit something with the wide reach of that blade.

"Well, then," Gwaine stated, quite cheerfully, and rubbed his hands in anticipation, kneading his fingers to get them warmed up. All eyes shifted to him, but he ignored them, looking only at the Green Knight, unable to fight down a grin when their gazes met. "How about someone who doesn't need to be honest with anyone but himself?"

He ignored both Lancelot's startled intake of breath and the shocked dismay on Merlin's face, and didn't even look at the offended outrage that was surely etched across Arthur's features. Leon just sighed a little, like he'd seen this coming for a long time and didn't necessarily approve of it, although he made no move to stop Gwaine when he stepped forward.

The Green Knight gave him a careful, narrow-eyed look, lingering on his squared shoulders and his easy, unafraid stance, like he wanted to glean as much as possible from his body language. It felt strange to be appraised so thoroughly, as if his outer layers were peeled back and carefully laid aside by the man's eyes alone, but it wasn't an unpleasant feeling. He had nothing to hide, after all, and so he just stood still despite the urgent rush of excitement that swept through him, and let him look all he liked.

Finally their eyes met again, and although the Green Knight's slow smile took Gwaine by surprise, he realized that he'd passed at least this first test. "There is much strength in you that you have yet to use," he said, pensively, and Gwaine's thoughts flashed back to another day, a brittle-looking wooden bridge and its keeper who had worn the crackle of magic like a cloak, and who had told him something similar.

He shrugged off the memory, and spread his hands in invitation; unlike that guy, he was fairly sure that the Green Knight wouldn't resort to transforming his weapon into a flower, of all things. "Fancy testing it?"

The Green Knight's smile widened into a grin, and he hefted up his axe with one hand, as though it weighed nothing at all, and offered it to Gwaine hilt first. "Be my guest."

The wooden handle felt strangely warm when Gwaine wrapped his fingers around it, and although the muscles in his forearm twinged in protest, he managed to hold it up one-handed as well. To his surprise, the ivy was not in the way at all, and he couldn't even feel its twines on the smooth wood—it was almost like it was growing out of the handle, rather than on it. Which wasn't possible, of course, but he'd seen stranger things in his day.

He hefted it up experimentally, testing the solid weight pressing into his palm, the perfect balance of the weapon despite the heavy blade. One of the ivy leaves tickled the inside of his wrist, and a surge of prickling heat went through him at the feather-light touch—it felt almost like a caress, like the touch of something warm and pulsing with life.

"Remember," the Green Knight said quietly, like he didn't want to jolt Gwaine out of his contemplation of the axe. "I will not flinch from the blade, but you must choose carefully where you place the single stroke."

His mind already on the task ahead, Gwaine only nodded absently. The Green Knight stood stock still before him like he'd said he would, arms hanging loosely at his sides. He didn't seem to have so much as tensed, although Gwaine was now scrutinizing him, letting his slow, assessing gaze travel across the man's broad shoulders and deep chest, his surprisingly lithe waist and the way he hadn't even widened his stance to steady himself.

He glanced around at the others, taking in the suspicion on both Leon and Arthur's features, and the sheer disbelief in Lancelot's eyes, his expression plainly saying, you're not really going to do this, are you?, and Gwaine found himself smiling a bit when he realized just how familiar he was with that look. Merlin seemed tense and worried, and he shook his head just slightly when their eyes met, like he couldn't quite believe that Gwaine was really going to do this.

Gwaine tore his gaze away to refocus it on the Green Knight, narrowing his eyes in thought. It would be best to aim for his neck, by far the most vulnerable point on his body, since his goal was to render the man incapable of rising again, if he remembered the challenge correctly. If he swung the axe with both hands, he might build up enough force to get halfway through his neck, although he'd have to rely on his strength for the rest of the way, especially since he'd be aiming to sever his head with one stroke alone.

He broadened his stance and tightened his hold on the handle that was smooth and warm in his palms, his grip surprisingly secure despite the polished shine of the wood. A familiar predatory excitement was surging through him, heating up his blood far more than even the most potent wine could. It would be a shame to chop off a head as good-looking as this one, but if the guy insisted on it... And well, there was something magical about him, if the ivy was anything to go by, so he might not even end up dying anyway. He'd still need to deal out that other blow in return, after all.

"One blow?" he asked nevertheless, just to confirm that the man hadn't suddenly come to his senses, while he found himself hoping that he hadn't.

Brief amusement flickered across the Green Knight's features, mixed with a strange sort of pride, like he appreciated the fact that Gwaine had given him a way out, although he didn't intend to take it. "One blow."

Gwaine nodded, partly in acknowledgement and partly out of budding respect—the Green Knight still didn't look at all afraid or even remotely worried, which might of course just have meant that he didn't think Gwaine was that much of a threat, not even with the massive axe he was holding. The thought made him want to grin, although it was easy to suppress the somewhat inappropriate reaction this time. Well, he'd show him.

He took a deep breath and let it out, then another one, and with his next exhale he stepped forward, two quick paces that reminded him of the evening's dances in a tiny, unoccupied corner of his mind. The axe seemed to get heavier as he swung it, but his hands felt like they'd been fused to the handle, and his grip did not slip. His hair was whipped out of his face by his own speed when he shifted his weight, spinning around on his heel to gain as much momentum as possible before he aimed the weapon at the Green Knight's unprotected neck.

The blade cut through the air with a faint whistle, a wide arc of brightness when it reflected the moonlight, and the momentum was so great that Gwaine didn't really feel the impact when it struck. He had half expected the blade to get stuck as soon as it encountered bone, but there was nothing, except for a faint vibration traveling through the handle and up his arms. With how loudly his blood was roaring in his ears, he didn't hear the crunching squelch when the blade cut neatly through muscle and bone, but he felt the moment it came out on the other side. The supple, yielding resistance of blood-filled tendons gave way, and Gwaine staggered, trying to rein in his momentum and not trip forward into the Green Knight's still standing body.

There was a muffled thump when the severed head hit the ground, and the Green Knight stumbled forward, his steps imbalanced as his body fought to remain upright and not to fall to his knees. Gwaine stood still, breathing hard with exertion even from that single blow, and somehow didn't feel the need to look away from the blood that was running down the green tunic in trickling spurts, looking almost black in the dim light.

Merlin had his hands half-raised, as though to clap them over his mouth in case his stomach did decide to rebel after all. His face had gone so white that it looked almost translucent in the moonlight, and Gwaine felt a brief, absent stirring of fondness when Merlin nevertheless refused to look away. Lancelot looked a bit pale under his tan as well, but his expression was one of disbelief, rather than disgust—Gwaine found it mirrored by Leon when he glanced at the other knight. Arthur's expression was a grimace of stoicism, not allowing any reaction to show other than the minute tightening of his jaw.

But the Green Knight's body didn't fall. And didn't fall, and Gwaine frowned when that fact finally registered with him, the thought pushing through the residual exhilarated energy that thrummed through his veins. It was bending down, to be sure, folding in on itself slowly until one knee hit the ground with a soft noise, much like the thump when his head had fallen. Merlin let out a choked noise when he was granted a full view of the wound, and made a vague movement like he'd rather take at least a step back, but he stayed put, nailed to the spot by the gruesome sight before him.

An arm extended as the torso bent forward, and for a moment Gwaine thought he'd finally topple forward into the dew-covered grass—but no, he was actually reaching out, his fingers finding the tousled mop of his own hair on the ground. They fisted in it, gently, careful not to dislodge the ivy, and then he straightened back up with a fluid, graceful motion, and stood with his head cradled between his hands, holding it like a shield in front of his chest.

Gwaine suddenly realized that his mouth was hanging open, and only managed to close it after a stern command to his jaw muscles. Leon looked like he was berating himself for not having any weapons on him; he'd edged closer to Arthur, apparently prepared to protect the prince with his fists if worse came to worse. The Green Knight wasn't so much as turning towards him, though; Gwaine saw his hold on his head tighten, almost like he was regaining his equilibrium. Nobody spoke, and the rustling of leaves and the faraway crackle of the bonfires were the only sounds that broke the silence.

He nearly took a step back when the green eyes suddenly focused on him, but much like Merlin, Gwaine found himself rooted to the ground. At least he'd been right in assuming that there was something supernatural about the man, he thought hazily, watching in mute, though mildly horrified fascination as the man's lips parted and he spoke.

"That was one well-aimed blow, Sir Gwaine," the Green Knight said—his mouth was moving, articulating words that he shouldn't have had the breath to form, but even through his shock, Gwaine heard the appreciative pride in his tone. "I think that out of all those who have had me taste the bite of my own axe, your strength alone is fit to be put to the test."

Despite himself, Gwaine blinked, not quite understanding what the man was getting at; his strength had already been tested, he'd chopped his head from his shoulders with a single stroke of the axe. Upon closer inspection, the wound looked clean and well-cut, clearly inflicted by a duly sharpened blade, and Gwaine remembered with what little resistance his blow had been met. He'd put his everything into it, thinking that if there was indeed something magical in his opponent, he'd need to summon his full strength to best it. But no matter what else the Green Knight might be, his body, at least, was of flesh and blood like any other's.

"Still, you must not forget the conditions that we agreed on," the Green Knight went on, and Gwaine shook himself out of his thoughts, reminding himself that now was not the right moment to remember how easy it had been to severe his head from his neck. "You have dealt me one blow, which I have received without flinching, and in due time you shall receive another in return."

He seemed to think for a moment, and Gwaine saw his brow furrow under his tousled hair as he was given a slow once-over, like the Green Knight was weighing his options one last time before finally coming to a decision. "You shall meet me at my home when you're ready, and I will wait for you there," he said at last, and Gwaine nodded automatically, remembering the terms of their agreement. A brief smile flickered across the man's face—Gwaine got the feeling that the Green knight would have inclined his head to him in acknowledgement, had he still been able. "Much time has passed since the Green Chapel was last graced by visitors, but I am confident that you will find it."

"So you haven't invited most of the other noblemen after all? Is that what you're saying?"

Merlin looked slightly uncomfortable when Gwaine glanced at him in surprise, as though the words had tumbled out of his mouth without his consent and he was a bit embarrassed at suddenly finding himself at the center of attention. The Green Knight shifted his hold on his head, turning it a bit to get Merlin into his line of vision, and Gwaine fought down the inappropriate urge to laugh.

There was a moment of silence as they looked at each other, but finally the Green Knight just said, "Well deduced, Emrys," and bowed to him, which looked somewhat odd, given that his head was no longer sitting on his shoulders. Merlin went even paler when he was afforded another glance of the blood slopping out of the stump of the man's neck, but Gwaine had to give him some credit—he didn't look away.

"I hope that nothing I have done has earned me your displeasure," the Green Knight went on, and Gwaine frowned at the sudden caution in his tone—he was choosing his words carefully, and the look he gave Merlin seemed almost apologetic.

Merlin just gaped at him for a moment, but the Green Knight remained silent, obviously awaiting his response, and so Merlin finally shook his head, not quite seeming to trust his voice. It was strange to see the Green Knight's features light up at that, and he sounded oddly happy when he said, "You and your companions are cordially invited to grace my home with your presence as well, when Sir Gwaine comes to seek my retribution."

Arthur cleared his throat pointedly, like he'd had quite enough of being ignored at last. Gwaine suppressed a smile when the Green Knight only spared him a short glance, but just a second later he found himself blinking in confusion when he found himself pinned by the man's green gaze again.

He held out one hand towards Gwaine, palm facing upwards; Gwaine just stared at it for a moment, vaguely noticing that there was no blood on the callused skin, and barely managed to curb the stupid urge to ask whether he finally wanted to take him up on that offer of a dance. Then he noticed that he was still gripping the axe, and hurriedly moved to hold it out for the Green Knight to take back hilt first.

Gwaine did a double take when he followed the weapon with his gaze—the Green Knight somehow managed to attach it back to his belt one-handed, but that wasn't what had caught Gwaine's attention. The blade had been slick and shiny with blood before, but now it looked like it had at the feast—rust seemed to have eaten through the metal, and moss was slowly creeping over the silver engravings as he looked on.

"Farewell, your majesty," the Green Knight said, jolting Gwaine out of his amazed stare. He was bowing to Arthur, who simply nodded in response, looking a bit unsure just what was expected of him.

And if Gwaine had thought that watching moss grow with supernatural speed had been weird, seeing the man tuck his severed head under his arm now wasn't all that reassuring either. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lancelot shake his head slightly as though in a futile attempt to wake himself up from whatever strange dream he was having.

The Green Knight measured each of them with a final glance, although his eyes lingered on Gwaine for a moment longer. The look he gave Merlin seemed oddly grateful, like it really mattered to him not to have brought his disapproval upon himself, even though he'd grossed him out quite a bit by letting his head get chopped off. Judging from Merlin's slightly puzzled nod, he didn't quite know why his disapproval should matter to the Green Knight either.

Nobody spoke as they watched him turn and walk away into the forest, branches cracking and twigs snapping in his wake. The mossy ground muted his steps, though, and after a while the sounds of his departure were swallowed up by the incessant rustling of leaves overhead, the leaves stirred by a breeze that didn't reach the ground.

It was like a veil had been lifted. Gwaine became aware of the sounds of the feast once more, drifting over to where they were standing beneath the treeline, and he shook himself a little, feeling like he'd woken from a long dream. He caught Leon's eye over Arthur's shoulder, and was somewhat relieved to see his confusion mirrored on the other knight's face—after all, it was reassuring to know that he wasn't the only one wondering what the hell had just happened.






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