[fic] The Ivy Crown, 9e/9

[da_ya_ri]

The next morning, Gwaine woke up feeling refreshed and eager to face the day, and it was only when he dunked his head under in a nearby stream that he realized he had thought that the day before would be his last.

From the general direction of their camp, Elyan yelled for him to hurry up and twine flowers into his hair some other time. But Gwaine found himself pausing, his hair dripping wetly into his eyes as he stared sightlessly at the little beech trees surrounding the stream. There was something ironically fitting about his good mood, if he stopped to think about it, since just yesterday, he had thought he would die.

It felt like it had been ages ago that he'd stood before the Green Knight to face his demise, and it already would have seemed like a faraway memory if it hadn't been for the silky pull of green fabric against his stomach. Last night he'd been too tired to do more than put on a new shirt and go to sleep, but bending over to get his hair wet was all it had taken to feel the snug fit of the girdle around his middle again.

It was just as well, he thought a little ruefully as he toweled his hair mostly dry on the way back to the others, that the memory of his breach would stay with him for a while even though he hadn't died after all.

He pushed the thought away with some difficulty, telling himself sternly that Sir Gwaine of Camelot did not dwell on mistakes long past because he didn't make mistakes in the first place. It was no use thinking about what could have been—he had cheated and worn the girdle, the Green Knight had noticed and probably thought him a cowardly fool now, and that was the end of that. He brushed back his hair and tugged a smile on his face when he reached their camp.

"Are we ready to leave?" he asked Merlin, who looked far more awake and alert than he had last night, although there was still a faint flush on his cheeks.

Gwaine had found him and Arthur still asleep this morning, slumped into each other on the log. The other knights had studiously avoided meeting each others' gazes, although Elyan had grudgingly pressed two silver coins into the hand of a very smug Percival—Gwaine suspected that they had had a bet riding on that. Lancelot rolled his eyes at the exchange, but looked hesitantly fond rather than upset when he looked at the sleeping pair. And Leon, well—Gwaine thought that he had probably seen it coming all along. The tall knight had walked off to refill their waterskins grinning from ear to ear.

Merlin and Arthur had looked so peaceful sitting there, Arthur's arm slung protectively over Merlin's shoulders, with Merlin stifling his snores in the prince's neck. They made such a sickeningly adorable picture that Gwaine just had to ruin it, and he had woken Merlin first with a poke to his ribs.

But while Merlin had blushed to the roots of his hair and instantly scooted away from the prince, Gwaine had seen the shy smile nestled in the corner of his mouth. And so he hadn't even tried to stop roaring with laughter, even when Arthur had woken up too and lobbed a whetstone at his head.

"More or less, yeah," Merlin replied, and straightened up from where he'd been securing the luggage on the packhorse's back. All around them, the field was bustling with activity. Percival and Lancelot's boots got sootier by the minute as they carefully scattered the remains of their fire. Elyan was almost done readying the horses, and Gwaine felt a small spark of smug satisfaction when he saw the way Gryngolet kept dodging his attempts to heave his saddle onto his back.

Leon and Arthur were poring over the map again, gesturing occasionally to what looked like hills in the distance. But although the air was clear and not a cloud spoiled the view, there still weren't any villages in sight. The sun had risen in their back, and so they knew at least the rough direction of Camelot's border, but Leon and Arthur still looked unhappy. They were probably wondering how the hell they were supposed to find the squires if they couldn't even find their own location on the map.

Gwaine sauntered over to Elyan, secretly delighted when Gryngolet stopped his fussing to bump his nose into Gwaine's chest in greeting, perhaps a bit harder than another horse would have. Elyan used the stallion's momentary distraction to finally put the saddle on his back and secure the cinch with deft fingers. He let out a sigh of relief when he straightened up again, and Gwaine gave him a wry grin. It felt oddly good to know that he was the only one who was mostly getting along with Gryngolet by now.

Arthur folded the map and waved Leon away to his own horse with a slightly sour expression, apparently none the wiser even after conferring with the other knight. Gwaine saw the prince glance around at the sprawling green fields once more. But then he seemed to accept that they would just have to ride south for now, at least until they encountered some outskirts of civilization again.

The sky was clear and blue above them, not even a single cloud obscuring the horizon—it was as if the thunderstorm that had lulled Gwaine to sleep the night before had never happened. It was a perfect day for traveling, warm but not humid, and he knew they would cover a lot of ground in the next couple of hours, until the heat would make them slow down.

With an ease born of practice, Merlin tied the packhorse's reins to his horse's saddle, and led both of them over to where the others were gathering. A light, summery breeze started up, brushing through Gwaine's almost-dry hair like caressing fingers. Arthur turned back to the treeline once more, his gaze scanning the only slightly darkened spot of grass where their fire had burned. But he seemed satisfied that they hadn't left too many signs of their stay, because after a moment he signaled for them to mount.

Gwaine gripped Gryngolet's saddle, and was just about to wrestle his foot into the stirrup when a branch creaked behind him, a snap-crackle sound of dry wood that sounded deliberate, trying to draw his attention. And sure enough, when they all glanced back at the treeline, a figure detached itself from a looming oak, and the Green Knight stepped out of the shadows.

A jolt of surprise went through Gwaine, tinged with equal parts nervousness and delight, and his hands slid off the saddle on their own accord. The Green Knight was just about the last person he'd expected to see now, and judging from the startled intakes of breath around him, the others were just as astonished.

As if he'd guessed before what their reaction would be, the Green Knight took his time walking towards them, narrowing his eyes a little to block out the brightness of the sun. From the corner of his eye, Gwaine saw Arthur take a step closer to Merlin with something like distrust; Merlin, on the other hand, looked astonished but happy to see the Green Knight, and turned to Arthur just for long enough to roll his eyes at his protectiveness. But Gwaine couldn't look away from the green eyes that quickly swept over all of them with an easy, almost fond smile, like they were long-lost acquaintances and he had hoped to see them here.

It was the first time Gwaine had seen the man in full sunlight. The candles in Camelot's great hall and the Beltane fires had merely cast him in a diffuse light that flickered restlessly, and even yesterday, the leaves overhead had blocked most of the growing daylight. But now his eyes seemed all the brighter in the sunlight, gleaming ivy leaves peeking out between strands of tousled black hair. Gwaine didn't think that anyone would ever mistake the Green Knight for anything but a forest spirit in broad daylight. There was something otherworldly about him, a shimmer of centuries-old magic drawn close to his form like an almost invisible cloak.

A hawk was perched on his shoulder, its amber eyes staring at all of them in silent assessment. For some strange reason, that hard, unblinking look reminded Gwaine of Grænn's servants—but then the bird took flight in a flurry of feathers, brown and golden wings carrying it up into a nearby tree.

"Greetings," he said, the wreath of ivy rustling in his hair as he dipped his head. It wasn't a bow—but it didn't need to be, Gwaine suddenly thought, with a strange pull of something undefinable in his stomach. This was his realm, and here, he did not need to bow to anyone. "I see that you're prepared to ride home."

Leon mumbled something under his breath about being thoroughly lost in between nonexistent villages, but didn't speak up. The Green Knight took his time looking at all of them, like he felt it had been far too long since he'd last seen them. Gwaine's back straightened on its own accord when the man's eyes came to rest on him, and for the first time he felt a stir of unease—surely he would be called out on what had happened yesterday now.

He could think of no other reason why the Green Knight would seek out their company again. But then the moment was over, too quickly for Gwaine to brace himself, and the green eyes moved on without a hitch. There had been no resentment in his gaze, no accusation and not even a hint of mockery, and Gwaine frowned in surprise when the Green Knight's eyes came to rest on Merlin.

It seemed like it would stay there for a while, and Gwaine couldn't blame Merlin for flushing slightly under that look. The Green Knight's smile was broad and happy, making him look younger than Gwaine had ever seen him, and Merlin simply stared back while his ears slowly went red.

"I came to thank you, Emrys," he said, and that seemed to be enough to rouse Merlin out of his stupor.

He shook his head, hands held up in front of himself in hurried defense. "I didn't even really... do anything," he trailed off, a bit lamely, since he'd probably realized for himself that he had done a lot yesterday. Gwaine found himself grinning, not the least bit surprised that Merlin didn't know what to do with the pride that shone in the Green Knight's eyes.

"Oh, but you did," the Green Knight objected, with a gentle insistence that shut Merlin up again; Gwaine's smile widened when he caught the exasperated look Arthur shot his manservant. "My forest will remember the touch of your mind forever."

Merlin blinked, caught off-guard for a moment, but then he straightened up, meeting the Green Knight's gaze squarely. He looked taller somehow, and Gwaine's mind instantly flashed back to the day before, to the way Merlin's very skin had been glowing with power when he had broken Morgana's control. It seemed oddly fitting that that memory was enough to help Merlin get over his embarrassment, Gwaine thought, and since no one was watching him anyway, he didn't even try to wipe the fond smile off his features.

"I'll remember it too," Merlin replied, quietly, like he was revealing a secret. He probably felt the weight of everybody's gazes on his back, but his shoulders didn't hunch in an instinctive attempt to shield himself. He stood tall and almost proud, as if he didn't even care anymore that his magic was spoken of so openly, and Gwaine suddenly thought that the proud, easy set of his shoulders suited him far better than that curled-in, protective hunch.

The Green Knight's smile became thoughtful, and he considered Merlin for a long moment, his head tilted like that of a curious bird. Then he nodded, apparently satisfied with what he'd seen, accepting the secret for what it was and promising to guard it well in the same moment.

"There is much that I have to do, now that the intruders are gone," the Green Knight said, his voice louder now to include all of them in the conversation. "But first, I think you will be glad to hear that the Man of the Summer Day's daughter is well on her way to safety."

It took Gwaine a long second to make the connection to Ragnelle—it was still odd to hear her father referred to by that strange name—but when he did, Gwaine couldn't help a small sigh of relief. She'd practically chased them off yesterday. Gwaine had been surprised by her uncharacteristic show of confidence, but although he hadn't doubted that she'd find her way home by herself, it was good to hear that she was safe.

"So she escaped the Mercians?" Leon cut in. Gwaine glanced over at him, and saw that Percival looked surprised, like he'd just been about to ask that question too.

"They never saw horse nor hide of her—or you, for that matter." While he had looked gravely proud when he'd been talking to Merlin just a moment ago, the broad smile was back on the Green Knight's features now. His eyes glittered with barely concealed, almost wicked amusement when he turned to Arthur. "You need not worry about Bayard, your majesty."

Gwaine saw Merlin's lips twitch into an absent smile when Arthur didn't even blink at the honorific, but simply accepted the Green Knight's words with a nod. Most of the wariness had left his features, but a part of it was still there, concealed and ready to flare up again at the drop of a hat. He didn't look like he was going to forget how exhausted Merlin had been after yesterday's magical showdown. But at least Gwaine knew that his overprotective streak was in good company now, and he ducked his head to hide his grin.

There was a short silence, a single unspoken question hanging in the air between all of them—Gwaine saw Leon shift his weight uneasily as he waited for someone else to pick up the glaringly obvious loose thread in the conversation. He understood the other knight's discomfort all too well; it wasn't like Gwaine himself was particularly eager to find out just how the Mercian soldiers had come to be "gone," as the Green Knight had put it.

Of course the Green Knight noticed the shift in the atmosphere, and judging from the knowing glint in his eyes, he was all too aware of the question that was running through all of their heads. "The Mercian trespassers," he began slowly, choosing his words with great care, "have been... dealt with. I assure you that none of you has anything to fear from them anymore."

His smile didn't waver, but became brighter somehow, a dangerous, sharp edge that rested lazily in the curl of the Green Knight's lips like a well-hidden knife. Gwaine's breath caught, his heart beating its way up into this throat, and for a moment he was reminded of that moment at the Green Chapel. It had felt like he'd seen the Green Knight clearly for the first time, and it was no different now.

The refined, aristocratic touch to his behavior was gone, with civility just a thin veneer over the fierceness that lurked beneath, more visible now that he was free. And no matter how long Gwaine searched the timeless green depths of his eyes, he couldn't bring himself to think of that ferocity as evil. It was just wild, and Gwaine thought he should probably be worried that it didn't scare him in the slightest, but just sent a pulse of strange, not unfamiliar heat down his spine.

Then he remembered the thunderstorm he had overheard last night, and shivered slightly. Maybe it hadn't just been a fluke of the weather, he thought—maybe the Green Knight had commanded the clouds as he had his animals, calling upon the skies to chase the intruders from his lands.

As if on cue, the Green Knight met Gwaine's gaze for the briefest of moments, and Gwaine got the oddest impression of a sleek predator slinking back out of sight. His smile disappeared slowly, and the unearthly brightness was gone from his eyes when he looked back at Arthur. "But a few frightened soldiers are not the only reason why I wanted to talk to you," he began, his tone hesitant now. "I came to tell you of the Lady Morgana's fate."

Caught completely off-guard, Arthur flinched, and Gwaine felt their collective attention shift towards him. He almost didn't want to look over at the prince, but did it anyway, although discomfort crawled down his spine at the thought that he was forced to overhear this. Next to him, Leon and Lancelot had both begun to examine the highly riveting leather of their boots, and Gwaine saw Percival and Elyan exchange an uncertain look before they returned to glancing back and forth between Arthur and the Green Knight.

"Last night, she was taken in by Iseldir's druids," the Green Knight said. Merlin, who had been staring at Arthur with badly disguised concern, turned to stare at him now, comprehension dawning on his features as if he'd seen that coming. "Iseldir told me that they would like to help her recover what she has lost."

Arthur's throat worked as he swallowed, but he managed a nod. Nobody asked what that meant—whether the druids would help her recover her mind or her magic—but in a way, Gwaine figured they were better off not knowing the details for now. Arthur looked paler than normal in the bright sunlight, but at least his features were composed into an expressionless mask. Granted, Gwaine had stood behind him to hold him back when the Green Knight had taken his revenge on Morgana the day before, but he had felt the jagged spikes of his pain as acutely as if he'd seen his face at the time. He didn't want to intrude into that again.

Nobody seemed to know what to say to that, and Merlin edged a bit closer to the prince—the movement wasn't very subtle, but Arthur didn't even turn to glare at him. His gaze was fixed on the Green Knight, and Gwaine could tell that he wanted to speak but didn't quite know whether to trust his voice.

But the Green Knight seemed to understand what he couldn't ask. "She has not woken yet," he told Arthur, his voice hushed with something like regret—not for Morgana's fate, but for Arthur. "When she does, her body will be weak." He hesitated for a second too long, obviously picking up on the strained undercurrent in the atmosphere, although his tone was not apologetic when he said, "I cannot tell what will become of her mind. But the druids have promised to do their best to nurse her back to health."

Physical or mental health? Gwaine almost asked, and bit his tongue just in time—now was not the right moment to say things like that, not even in jest.

The Green Knight was watching Arthur carefully, a guarded look in his eyes, but Gwaine was sure that he still didn't regret what he had done to Morgana, and probably never would. As far as Gwaine was concerned, he quite agreed with him on that one—he thought that she'd had it coming when she had decided to enslave a forest spirit against his will. Arthur might not see it that way, though, and Gwaine didn't blame the Green Knight for being on his guard.

A long moment of silence passed, but finally, Arthur nodded again in acknowledgement of what the Green Knight had told him, and Gwaine saw him exchange a strange, almost defeated look with Merlin. But whatever he had seen in his manservant's face must have hardened his resolve, because he took a deep breath, and his voice didn't waver when he said, "Thank you for telling me."

Merlin was blocking Gwaine's view of Arthur's hands, but there was a distinct release of the tension in his shoulders, and Gwaine thought that it looked like the prince had unclenched his fists. At the same time, Merlin let out the breath he'd been holding in a rush, and even the Green Knight looked relieved.

He waited a moment longer, ready to explain more if Arthur were to ask, but he remained silent. Gwaine thought he still looked rather white, although the hardness of resolve in his eyes looked anything but weak. He had obviously come to the decision not to inquire further just now. And Merlin's presence must have soothed him, Gwaine concluded with a private smile, if the way he had edged closer to his prince once more was anything to go by.

After a second, the Green Knight seemed satisfied, and released Arthur from the hold of his fathomless eyes. "And now," he said, his tone brightening as he swept his gaze over all of them once more, as though to reassure himself that they were still listening, "I believe I owe you an explanation."

Gwaine blinked in utter surprise when he found his gaze suddenly caught and held. For a moment he almost glanced over his shoulder to see if there was anyone standing behind him, but the Green Knight was looking only at him, a strange, knowing glint in his eyes. There was the slightest hint of a smile there as well, like he was setting up a game that only he knew the rules to, and Gwaine could have thought of a million reasons why that should have made him wary. But instead it just made him want to saunter up to the man with a grin, spread his hands in invitation, and say something inadvisable like, Have at it, then.

He shook his head to dispel the thought, and reminded himself sternly that now was not the time for this. He shouldn't even have needed to steer his thoughts towards the silky pull of fabric that he still felt against his stomach with every breath he took, a gentle, not oppressive and yet condemning weight. And he didn't understand why the Green Knight was still looking at him with unconcerned, appreciative kindness, why he wasn't exposing Gwaine as the coward he'd been—as far as Gwaine was concerned, it was him who owed everyone an explanation for his behavior. But something in the man's eyes encouraged him to hold his tongue for now and see what he had to say.

The Green Knight took a step closer, his boots leaving only superficial imprints in the soft, springy grass. He considered him for a moment, swept his gaze up and down Gwaine's form, his eyes resting for a moment on the small, crusted cut at the side of his neck. He looked so calm and at ease that Gwaine almost expected him to fold his hands and gaze off into the distance, like a bard gathering his thoughts to tell his most famed story.

But then the Green Knight took a deep breath, like he had finally laid out what he wanted to say in front of his mind's eye, and said, "I've told you once before that my axe does not tolerate dishonesty."

There was still no hint of accusation in his tone, but the sting of those words was surprisingly acute. Gwaine found himself swallowing hard as they hit home, suddenly all too aware of the fact that everyone else was looking at him too. They didn't know yet what the Green Knight was talking about, but they would. A flush was threatening to creep up his neck, prickly and uncomfortable in its sheer unfamiliarity—he couldn't even remember the last time blood had risen to his face in embarrassment.

He opened his mouth to reply—though whether to explain or to defend himself, he didn't know—but the Green Knight held up a hand to silence him. A wordless insistence brightened his gaze, seeming to entreat Gwaine to just let him speak for now. "And after you beheaded me so bravely on Beltane eve," he continued, "I deemed your honesty worthy of being put to the test."

"Yeah, and I failed," Gwaine almost interrupted, his tongue loosened by the man's tone. It was dangerously close to pride, like he would remember that blow for many years to come as the most magnificent stroke he had ever been felled by.

And somehow, that rankled him even more than the Green Knight's slow, deliberate manner of untangling the web of tests. He didn't quite know where the sudden stir of irritation had come from, but he welcomed it, as it helped him square his shoulders and meet that green gaze head on.

More acutely than ever, Gwaine could feel Merlin's soft, forgiving gaze like a brand on his back. Surely Merlin remembered their conversation in Grænn's backyard—he had to be wondering why Gwaine insisted that he'd failed the test, since he had turned down Merlin's offered help before. Somehow, Gwaine was glad that his back was turned to him; he didn't want to see Merlin's face when he finally found out that Gwaine had broken his word after all.

But the Green Knight just shook his head, unfazed by the belligerence in Gwaine's voice. "You misunderstand me," he said calmly. "Your honesty was tested even before you faced my blade yesterday. At the Chapel, you merely received the results."

That took the wind out of Gwaine's sails. For a long moment he simply held the Green Knight's gaze, waiting for him to continue, but it seemed like he wanted to give those words a bit of time to sink in. A fond, enigmatic smile was tucked into the corner of his mouth, reminding Gwaine oddly of someone who was watching a well-loved friend come to a difficult conclusion.

Well, he didn't feel like the confused fog in his head would lift any time soon. But Merlin gasped suddenly, and Gwaine glanced at him before he could think better of it. His eyes went wide as something seemed to click in his head, and he looked from the Green Knight to Gwaine and back again.

"I believe it is time to clear up the secret identity," the Green Knight said, and Gwaine saw that he'd also noticed Merlin's realization. His smile grew into a grin when he turned to Gwaine again, like he secretly enjoyed the puzzled expression on his face, and he declared, "I was Grænn."

Silence followed the words, only broken by the sounds of the forest, rustling leaves and faraway twitters of birds. Then Elyan let out a sound halfway between a gasp and an incredulous laugh, disbelief written plainly across his features—he exchanged a stunned glance with Percival, and Gwaine suddenly remembered that the two of them had been at Grænn's house for more than just three days. Leon's eyebrows wandered towards his hairline, but he looked wary rather than surprised, and Lancelot didn't even bother with either emotion. He just exchanged a questioning glance with Merlin as though to make sure that he'd heard that correctly.

The Green Knight's eyes twinkled with amusement, like he had expected this kind of reaction. Slowly, he spread his hands at his sides, palms facing the sky—it looked a bit like the gesture he had used yesterday to trap them. But this time, no sturdy grass encased their boots, and no thorny twines shot up from the ground to restrain them.

He took a deep breath that seemed to be echoed by the forest. Behind him, a gust of wind billowed out into the trees, shaking loose twigs and leaves from their branches, and in barely a couple of seconds, the Green Knight's appearance changed. His clothes seemed to melt and flow into the light and dark browns that made up the hunting gear that Gwaine had gotten so used to seeing on their host. The axe disappeared, as did the ivy, and suddenly his hair was red and disheveled like he'd just come back from a hunt. Even his features blurred like a pane of glass that was breathed on, transforming into Grænn's familiar face.

High up in a tree, mostly hidden by leafy branches, the hawk let out a shrill cry as though it recognized its master's different form. Red hair glinted in the sunlight when the Green Knight glanced up at the bird, and his smile was wide and familiarly jovial when he turned to look at them again. His eyes were the only thing that hadn't changed. They were still ageless and green and secretly amused.

Percival and Elyan wore matching expressions of disbelief, their mouths slightly open, and Gwaine half expected them to rub their eyes to make sure they weren't deceived. Almost at the same time, Leon and Lancelot both sighed, a bit wearily, like this new magical occurrence was just one more of those things that they would one day tell their grandchildren about.

Merlin seemed to be concealing a smile of his own, and to Gwaine's surprise, Arthur didn't look all that astonished either. He merely exchanged a glance with his manservant, and Gwaine thought that Merlin had probably found out first and told the prince immediately. Despite the situation, he felt the oddest urge to walk over to Merlin and clap him on the back, simply because this was a secret he had shared with someone.

"Oh, don't look so surprised," the Green Knight said in Grænn's voice, cheerful as a court jester who had just performed his cleverest trick. He breathed out, his shoulders drooping, and suddenly he was himself again, black-haired and fair-faced, watching all of them flinch at the sudden change.

Gwaine realized that his mouth was open too, and he closed it with some difficulty. In retrospect, he probably shouldn't have been quite this surprised. The man was an ethereal entity after all, in possession of a kind of magic that Gwaine had never encountered before, and changing his own appearance was probably easy for him.

"I was Grænn," the Green Knight repeated, turning to Gwaine once more, and Gwaine suddenly remembered that he'd been in the middle of explaining something. He shifted his attention back to the matter at hand, pushing the whole thing with Grænn to the back of his mind. He could always think about it later—right now, he needed to listen.

"My disguise was important for finishing your test," the Green Knight explained. "But I also wanted to offer you a reprieve before you had to face the witch. I knew that some of you needed rest."

His gaze flickered to Merlin for a moment, looking almost apologetic. For the first time, Gwaine found himself wondering if he knew how strangely ill Merlin had been before they'd reached the mansion. And well, he probably had—the forest was him, after all, and he was bound to have noticed.

"To test your honesty, I had to enlist the help of the Man of the Summer Day's daughter," the Green Knight continued after a short pause. Gwaine hurriedly refocused his thoughts on the present—now that he was finally getting an explanation, he didn't want to miss it. "And Dame Ragnelle ended up playing her part quite well."

Gwaine blinked at the ancient honorific, but didn't comment on it. Something was stirring at the very back of his mind, a faraway realization that needed just a bit more time to unfurl. It was all trying to fit into the bigger picture in his head, but he couldn't quite put all of the pieces together just yet.

"You remember our game, Sir Gwaine, do you not?" he asked, and smiled when Gwaine gave him a puzzled look. Now that the Green Knight mentioned it, he did remember the game—but he had hardly spared a thought to it ever since they had left Grænn's house. He had thought it had just been an idle pastime—although that hadn't lessened the sting of his own broken promise.

But the Green Knight was still talking, even as a couple of things started to fall into place in Gwaine's head. "We agreed to exchange our winnings at the end of each day, and of course you had to have something you could win in the first place—"

"You told Ragnelle to kiss me!" Gwaine interrupted, more loudly than he'd intended, in his sudden astonishment. He stared at the Green Knight in stunned surprise, and wondered why he hadn't realized that before—it seemed too easy all of a sudden, now that he had been given the final, vital puzzle piece.

It all made sense now—Ragnelle's strange behavior, the kisses she'd given him, her reluctance... Of course she'd practically been squirming with discomfort. He wasn't all that surprised to find out that she hadn't really wanted to kiss him; he had deduced that much at the mansion. The only thing he hadn't known until now was why she'd done it anyway—but well, if a powerful forest spirit asked for your help, you probably couldn't really refuse.

Suddenly Gwaine found himself remembering that last evening, and the insistent, silent message in Ragnelle's gaze when she'd given him her last kiss. And the girdle, Gwaine suddenly thought, and felt his stomach sink. He held the Green Knight's calm gaze, and wondered if the other man knew what he was thinking of right now, if he knew that Ragnelle had probably gone behind his back to give him the means to protect himself. Sure, he had told her to kiss him, but the girdle must have been given of Ragnelle's own free will. Maybe she'd known that he would have to face certain death the next day.

"I regret that she was scared of what I really am," the Green Knight said quietly, startling Gwaine out of his thoughts. It took him a moment to remember that they'd been talking about Ragnelle in the first place. "But I had no choice. I had to ask for her help. I only hope that, had she known of my situation, she would not have held it against me."

From the corner of his eye, Gwaine saw Merlin nod absently, like he was remembering something he'd long since discarded. Arthur was frowning, trying to keep up with the load of new information that was dumped on him, but he didn't look completely puzzled—Merlin had probably told him enough to understand this too, and he just needed a moment to put it all together. On Gwaine's other side, Percival seemed unaware of Elyan's cautious gaze resting on him, and stared at the Green Knight with something close to resentment. Gwaine knew that he, at least, wouldn't stop holding this against him any time soon.

Gwaine shifted his gaze to the Green Knight again, a slow, cold feeling creeping into his stomach. He didn't seem to want to mention it, perhaps out of some misplaced courtesy—but Gwaine found that he would have preferred to have the matter out in the open at last. So it fell to him to speak of it, to mention his broken promise; and well, he thought, with unfamiliar bitterness, it was oddly fitting that he had to humiliate himself in front of the others to find closure.

But maybe they wouldn't even be all that surprised—maybe they had seen it coming all along. None of them had seemed to take him seriously ever since he'd accepted the Green Knight's challenge, after all. Perhaps they'd even outright counted on him to break his word after all, thinking that he was too selfish a knight to keep a promise.

The thought was enough to spur him into action, and once the decision was made, it wasn't even all that hard to speak anymore. Instinctively, Gwaine squared his stance, as though preparing to face the Green Knight's axe once more. He took a deep, steadying breath, and declared, almost belligerently, "I broke my word."

The Green Knight's gaze refocused on him, intense and piercing, like an antiquarian of jewels might examine a new gem in his collection. There was a short, befuddled silence when Gwaine felt everyone's attention shift to him, felt the surprise in Lancelot and Arthur's expressions and the sympathetic unease in Merlin's as though he could see them. But he didn't look away from the Green Knight, holding his head as high as he still dared, and barely resisted the urge to fold his arms across his chest in self-defense.

"You did," the Green Knight agreed at last. He let out a sigh, like he had secretly hoped that Gwaine would let the matter rest. "But, Sir Gwaine—"

Gwaine held up a hand to silence him, vaguely surprised at himself—the look in the Green Knight's eyes was almost entreating, instead of accusing, like he was about to defend Gwaine against his own words. "No," he said, and was relieved when his voice still came out steady. "I meant— I didn't just cheat my way out of our bargain. I also broke my word to Grænn."

The Green Knight blinked as surprise flickered across his face, and Gwaine almost cringed as he waited for the realization to sink in. His stomach twisted like his skin resented the silky touch of the girdle, although it was no use—he couldn't take his words back now. He could only wait for the disappointment that would cloud the Green Knight's eyes in a second.

But then his features broke out into another smile, wide and almost proud, as if he hadn't expected Gwaine to tell him that, but was glad that he had. "Oh, did you?" he asked, cocking his head as though to examine Gwaine from a different angle. His eyes had gone narrow, but instead of shocked or condemning, he looked amused, of all things. "He's a forgiving fellow, I'm sure he wouldn't hold it against you."

Frustration bubbling up in him, Gwaine shook his head, and resisted the urge to rake his fingers through his hair in exasperation. He was trying to explain what he'd done, and the Green Knight just smiled at him with an expression of serene cheer.

He took a deep breath to steady himself once more. "Please don't hold it against Ragnelle," he said—he hated to rat her out like this, but it was the only way to make the Green Knight understand. "I'm sure she didn't think of your orders or of the game at all—she only wanted to help me." Swallowing, he brought up a hand to rest it on his middle, and felt the green fabric's whisper-soft touch on his skin beneath his tunic. "She was the one who gave me this girdle"

"But of course she did," the Green Knight exclaimed, looking like he'd just barely managed to wait for Gwaine to finish before reassuring him. "She was acting on my orders even then." His smile widened when he saw Gwaine's flabbergasted expression, and he took a step closer, kind insistence in his eyes. "Don't you see, Sir Gwaine? Forwarding her reluctant affections to me was not difficult for you, but I wanted to see if you would also hand over the means to save your own life."

And that was precisely where he'd failed, Gwaine thought, and repressed the urge to seize the Green Knight's shoulders and shake him until that damned grin slipped off his face and he finally gave Gwaine the dressing-down he deserved. The fact that the Green Knight had known about the girdle right from the start just made it worse—didn't he realize that Gwaine had betrayed him to save his hide?

His stomach roiling, Gwaine subsided into frustrated silence. He had no idea what else to say to get the Green Knight to understand his betrayal, and in an unaffected, faraway corner of his mind, something about the situation struck him as supremely ironic. Not too long ago, he would have taken the easy way out with a cocky grin, not even thinking about explaining his actions. But now he was outright insisting to be judged, and found himself confused and irritated, now that he was refused the punishment he thought he deserved.

The Green Knight watched him, head tilted to the side, his eyes narrowed in thought. The infuriating smile was still there, but it had dimmed with pensiveness—he was most likely trying to think of a way to absolve Gwaine of his guilt. Because it was guilt that crawled down his spine in a sick slide and prickled on the shallow cut in his neck. And he briefly thought that if anyone had told him a few months ago just how sharp and acute that feeling could be, his younger self would have laughed out loud.

Finally, the Green Knight straightened up, and captured Gwaine's gaze with his own. His eyes were still calm and untroubled, but now there was a threat of hardness there as well, and Gwaine knew that it was now the Green Knight's turn to try to convince him. "You broke your promise on the last day," he said, dipping his head in acknowledgement. "But you were true to your word the two days before."

For a moment, Gwaine couldn't do anything but stare back at him, at the strands of black hair that were stirred by a gentle breeze, catching on the lush, dark ivy leaves. Then confusion trickled in, doing nothing to appease the irritation that was simmering just out of reach in his mind.

His thoughts must have shown on his face, because the Green Knight let out a soft chuckle and shook his head as if to lament Gwaine's slowness. "Did you not wonder why my first two blows never harmed you, and why the last one only grazed your neck?"

"What?" Gwaine said faintly, and almost reached up to cover the shallow wound. It didn't even hurt anymore, although he still remembered the shockingly vivid streak of red that it had left on the axe's shining blade. He thought back to the white-silver flash of metal through the air—the Green Knight was right, he had dealt out three blows, but Gwaine had no idea what that meant now. "I thought— I flinched back, and then you feinted once, and the girdle—"

"The girdle," the Green Knight interrupted, his voice gentle yet decisive, "is no more in possession of magic than you are, my friend. It was your own honesty that saved you, nothing more and nothing less."

But I just told you that I broke my damned word, Gwaine thought, but didn't say aloud. It didn't help that he could see Merlin's sudden wide smile from the corner of his eye, his blue eyes flickering back and forth between Gwaine and the Green Knight, since he'd obviously realized something that Gwaine still didn't understand.

For once, though, Arthur looked just as confused as he felt, and none of the others seemed to understand either. Gwaine shook his head faintly in an attempt to rearrange his jumbled thoughts into some semblance of order. Ragnelle had given him the girdle, and she must have believed it to be magic—the Green Knight had probably fooled her right along with Gwaine. But if the girdle hadn't protected him after all, he didn't understand why his head hadn't fallen at the Green Knight's feet as it should have, why his blood hadn't stained the ancient soil surrounding the Chapel.

"Three days," the Green Knight said quietly, watching him carefully as though he wanted to see the exact moment when Gwaine wound finally understand. "Three tests of your strength, Sir Gwaine. Three opportunities for you to fail—and three blows to see if you had."

Something was unfurling at the back of his mind, just out of reach. Half-formed thoughts flashed through his mind, too quick to catch and examine from a closer angle, and still he couldn't see the bigger picture that the Green Knight wanted him to see.

"But I did fail," Gwaine said at last, because it seemed like the only thing he could say. His voice came out rough with disuse. "I was dishonest on the last day—"

"You were," the Green Knight cut in, interrupting him once more. His eyes were still soft with understanding, like he knew very well what an ordeal this was for Gwaine, although he clearly wanted to urge him to understand. "But even my axe knew what the outcome would be if you were faced with a conflict between a promise and your love of life."

Then why didn't it behead me? Gwaine wanted to ask, but didn't. He remained silent, waiting for the last piece of the explanation that would finally make sense even to him, and cursed the small, fluttery feeling that was stirring amidst the numbness in his stomach. It was hope, he knew—hope that maybe he was the one who was wrong, and who needed to be convinced. He tried to shove it to the back of his mind, but judging from the small smile that curled the Green Knight's lips, he had seen it anyway.

"You faced a conflict between a virtue and a passion," he said, his voice quiet, like he didn't want to disturb the slow realization that Gwaine was reaching. "You could have shown me the girdle, but you didn't, because you thought you would die if you gave it away. Your only failure," and the word came out soft, as if the Green Knight was only using it to finally convince him, "was that you wanted to live."

Silence fell, and Gwaine stared back at him, unable to break eye contact as the realization crashed over him in waves. The green gaze was almost like a physical touch, like gentle hands on his shoulders, and Gwaine could barely hold back a gasp as he finally understood. His will to live had won the battle with his integrity, but while he had just assumed that he hadn't passed the test, it was not a failure in the Green Knight's eyes.

"It wasn't—," he started, but his voice broke even on those two words. Too stunned to even feel embarrassed, he cleared his throat, and tried again. "You're not— angry?"

The Green Knight threw his head back and laughed, the sound ringing across the field like the deep hum of a bell that had been struck. "Of course not!" he exclaimed, grinning so widely that his teeth glinted in the sunlight, and Gwaine was sure that if they'd stood more closely together, he would have been given a hearty slap on the back. "I would only have been angry if you'd thrown your life away for a stupid promise!"

But I broke my word, Gwaine wanted to say once more, and held the words back simply because he felt like he'd already said them too many times to count. There was something else creeping into his mind as well, a thought that seemed like the logical conclusion of everything he had learned. Still, he was still too flabbergasted to even attempt to sound accusing when he asked, "So you knew all along that I would keep the girdle?"

"Oh, I didn't know," the Green Knight said, amusement dancing in his eyes. Even the wreath of ivy seemed to pick up on his excitement, the leaves reflecting the sunlight through black strands of hair. "I hoped—hoped that, since you are still new to knighthood, you would realize the limits of the chivalric code. I hoped that through the challenge, you would understand that honesty is more than a casual word to describe an unrealistic ideal."

In other words, that complete honesty wasn't possible, Gwaine thought, no matter how noble or chivalrous someone tried to be. For a giddy, weightless moment, he wanted to turn around and see how Arthur was taking this whole thing, or whether Lancelot felt like objecting.

But he couldn't tear his gaze away from the Green Knight. It was like the weight on his shoulders hadn't quite caught up with everything yet, and was still refusing to be dislodged. But he knew it would, because finally, he understood. He hadn't failed at all. A few months ago, he would never have thought that he'd ever go to such lengths to try to keep a promise, but now he had. He had been true to his word for as long as he'd been able to, until his own life had been at stake, and in the Green Knight's eyes, that had never made him weak.

Slowly, the tension seeped out of his stomach. It seemed like their whole group was releasing breaths they hadn't realized they'd been holding—all of them had been tense and silent, not daring to interrupt, but now they were shaking off their stupor. Merlin beamed at him, looking just as proud as the Green Knight, and Gwaine smiled back, a bit shakily.

"Now, if you just head south," the Green Knight was saying to Arthur, and it took Gwaine a moment to refocus his thoughts, "I am sure you will encounter your lost squires soon enough." From the corner of his eye, Gwaine saw Leon's surprised look—judging from the mischief glittering in the Green Knight's eyes, he had heard the other knight's earlier grumbling about their lack of orientation.

The thought made him smile again, and this time it felt more genuine on his face. The coldness in his hands was thawing rapidly, and the feeling was oddly reminiscent of being shaken awake. The tests at Grænn's house, his concealment of the girdle, the Green Knight's three blows—it all seemed to blur into a rapid stream of memories in front of his mind's eye. For the first time, Gwaine realized that it had barely been a day since he'd said goodbye to Grænn. It was almost strange to feel so relieved now, when he hadn't even had the time to really think about his own broken promise, but it had weighed on his mind all the same.

There wasn't anything to be ashamed of, he thought, giddy relief suddenly bubbling up in him—it would probably take some time until he could fully believe that himself, but for now, it helped him push the remnants of guilty frustration to the back of his mind. His next deep breath of summer air felt fresh and new, and a weight seemed to lift from him like a heavy cloak sliding to the ground with a whisper of fabric. He still felt a bit imbalanced, but it was nothing compared to the roiling frustration from before, and he figured he could deal with that.

The Green Knight was still talking, mostly to Arthur, and Gwaine noticed that Leon looked a little happier now that they'd gotten at least some vague directions. His next words were directed at all of them, though, and Gwaine found himself briefly skimmed by his green gaze when he said, "Whenever you decide to return, you will always be welcome here."

He encompassed the woods behind him with a sweeping gesture, and Arthur looked surprised, but nodded anyway. Merlin seemed a bit doubtful, and Gwaine couldn't blame him—something about the forest had made him quite ill, after all. But the Green Knight misread his gaze, because he hurried to add, "Of course that includes you too, Emrys," like he thought that Merlin assumed that he wouldn't be allowed to come back.

Merlin smiled, his eyes gone soft and hesitant as he considered the Green Knight for a long moment. He seemed to choose his words with great care, but Gwaine heard the tentative offer of friendship in his tone when he said, "My name is Merlin."

"Merlin," the Green Knight repeated softly, almost to himself, like he wanted to see how the name felt on his tongue. He looked pensive and a bit surprised, as if he hadn't expected Merlin to even tell him his actual name. But after a moment he visibly refocused his thoughts, and gave Merlin a smile and a little bow. "Very well."

Not at all surprised when Merlin just nodded back and didn't seem to know what to do with that gesture of respect, Gwaine quickly smothered his grin. Next to Merlin, Arthur wasn't quite as fast, and so Merlin caught the tail end of the slightly exasperated, fond look that Gwaine just knew the prince would deny vigorously later. But just now, Merlin didn't seem to feel like teasing him—he just gave him a halfhearted glare.

There was a short silence, and Gwaine physically felt the shift of the Green Knight's attention even before he turned around. This time, though, he didn't simply fix him with his fathomless eyes—with a small, enigmatic smile, the Green Knight crossed the distance between them, the grass quickly bouncing back from the imprints of his boots, and came to stop in front of Gwaine. For a second he looked hesitant, like he wasn't quite sure if he should do what ran through his mind just then.

But before he could ask, the Green Knight seemed to come to a decision. He fixed Gwaine with a strange, pinning look that made his pulse speed up, made him feel like he was put to the test once more, although he'd thought that the time of testing was over for good. Still, Gwaine didn't flinch, and just gazed back at him as calmly as he could, letting him search for whatever he needed to find.

"Know this," the Green Knight said at last, softly now, his voice meant mostly for Gwaine's ears, although both of them knew that the others could hear them too. "I do not hand out my favors lightly, and my respect is not won easily."

I know that, Gwaine wanted to say, because he did—he had almost let the man chop off his head, after all. But something in the Green Knight's eyes silenced him, and Gwaine thought vaguely that they looked darker somehow, shadowed with something primal and thrilling that reminded him of their encounter at Beltane eve.

"All the same, Sir Gwaine, you have earned both," the Green Knight murmured. He raised his hand, and Gwaine caught a whiff of his unique scent, crushed grass mingling with rich, wet soil and the crisp freshness of early morning mist. "And I want you to have this."

He brushed his fingertips through his hair, and Gwaine didn't quite see what he did—but when the Green Knight lowered his arm again and Gwaine automatically reached out to take whatever he wanted to give him, he was holding a small leaf of ivy.

Gwaine was well aware of the fact that he didn't have a magical bone in his body, and he was fairly certain that the Green Knight knew that too. Nevertheless, he still felt a shock of something when the silky, cool texture touched his palm—it felt a little like waking up after a long sleep to full sunlight. As sharp and bright as the daylight around them, the strange sensation rushed through his veins in a shock of heat, followed closely by soothing coolness.

He must have gasped or made some other sound, because the expectant look on the Green Knight's face transformed into concern. But Gwaine just closed his eyes for a moment to ground himself again, and when he opened them again, the brief dizziness was gone. Relief flashed through the Green Knight's eyes, and for the first time it occurred to Gwaine that he was probably the only non-magical person to ever have held one of his leaves, a tiny piece of his heart.

"Should you ever need my help, you can use this to call for me," the Green Knight told him in a hushed voice. To call me, not to command me, he didn't add, but Gwaine understood anyway, and he couldn't help a surge of fierce pride when he realized that the Green Knight hadn't thought he needed to warn him of that.

Gwaine nodded his thanks, not quite trusting his voice yet, and closed his palm around the leaf, strangely delighted when he felt the tiniest vibration course through its texture. It wasn't dead—the Green Knight might have plucked it from his crown of ivy, but it was clearly still connected to the feral, ageless magic that sustained the forest. It was small, nestling comfortably in the center of his palm, but Gwaine silently promised himself that it would never look as charred and drained as Morgana's leaf had.

He took a deep breath and met the Green Knight's eyes again, trying to convey without words that he knew how precarious this gesture probably felt to him, since at least one of the people who had ever touched his ivy had used it to control him. The Green Knight gave him a crooked smile and a nod, and watched in silence as Gwaine carefully tucked the leaf into his tunic, its slow, living pulse coming to rest close to his heart.

"The same goes for you, you know," Gwaine found himself saying, his tone deliberately light to chase the strange crackle from the air. It wasn't unpleasant, but it sent a thrill through him and warmed his blood, and he knew that he'd do something inadvisable if he didn't lighten the atmosphere, like lean over to breathe in the man's tantalizing smell. "You're always welcome at Camelot too."

Behind him, Arthur let out a quiet snort, but didn't seem to mind that Gwaine was essentially speaking on his behalf. The Green Knight laughed softly, amusement chasing the quiet urgency from his features, and his eyes were coy when he asked, "For what? Another challenge?"

"No," Gwaine said, a giddy flutter erupting in his stomach. Once again he remembered his first true encounter with the Green Knight, the strains of music that had drifted over to them between the Beltane fires, and he finally let himself grin. "For a dance."






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