Percival found them not long after. He saw their silhouettes in the dark and approached quietly. Gwaine sat in the middle, Fira beside him. Percival saw that, to his surprise, she was drinking a bottle of ale. He slipped down on Gwaine’s other side. He had brought his own stash of alcohol from the inn.

Gwaine cried, but neither of his companions noticed. His face, wet with tears, never glanced their way. His heart hurt; his chest felt like it was on fire. But at least he wasn't alone.

Half an hour later he finally spoke. His voice croaked from underuse. “Where are my brothers?”

Percival replied quietly. “They went to sleep when we got back.”

“Good.” He nodded, sniffing back tears. He straightened himself up. “Well, better get back to camp before people start wondering.” He sent Percival a wink and helped Fira up with a bow. “Come on!”

They knew it was an act. A well groomed, practiced act. Neither Percival nor Fira fell for it this time.

“Gwaine you don't need to go back now,” Fira told him softly.

“I like the beach,” Percival agreed.

Gwaine’s forced smile dropped but a little. “Oh come now. No use in making stuff up for my benefit. I'm fine.”

Fira rolled her eyes. “I agree with Percival. I like the beach. And you are not fine.”

“I'm fine, seriously.” Gwaine’s face fell. He walked away down the stoney beach, drinking.

Fira exchanged a solemn, pointed look with Percival. They watched their friend meander around, obviously done with human interaction. She sighed and spoke quietly.

“Go back to camp.” Fira crossed her arms and put on her no nonsense face. “You were injured today and need rest. I'll stay here and keep an eye on him.”

Percival looked ready to object but a yawn stopped any further complaints. “If you need help with him…” He trailed off.

“I promise I'll wake you.” She smiled at the much taller man. “Don't worry. He’ll be fine.”

Percival hesitated before nodding to her. “Don't get hurt.”

“Hurt?” She looked at him in both surprise and alarm. “Gwaine wouldn't hurt me.”

“You've never seen him actually drunk,” Percival reminded her. “But, you're probably right.”

Fira nodded. “I know I'm right.”

Percival shrugged and left her to watch Gwaine. She stood on the dock, taking drinks every so often of the disgusting ale she held in her hands. She felt at such a loss. What could she say to him?

As she watched him from her spot on the dock, Fira observed his features. His head was hung low, the bottle of alcohol in his hand by his side sloshing with each step. Fira sat and dangled her legs off the side. A wooden beam came to her chest height and then another above her head. She rested on the middle one. With a sigh, she put her chin on her arms.

Gwaine must've felt her staring because he turned moments later. He walked back to her. The expression on his face, full of defeat, scared her more than anything yet. Gwaine never looked defeated. Nothing could stop the exuberant knight.

“You need sleep, Gwaine.” Fira heaved a heavy sigh.

His lips pursed, twitching in anger. “I need Morgana dead.”

“I know.” She agreed. After a pause she spoke more quietly and with a slower pace. “I know.”

Gwaine looked at her. He knew that she understood. The torturous nightmares Morgana and her minions had put Fira through would be enough to make anyone crave vengeance. But Gwaine felt that craving more than most.

“Sing for it.”

He’d had no other choice but to do so. He’d had to keep Gaius and Elyan alive. They were his friends. He’d never really had friends before Camelot.

“You're a knight of Camelot. You'll be fine.”

Physically, yes, he was fine. A few cracked ribs, a tiny bit of internal bleeding, numerous lacerations. But deep inside, a hatred grew. He hadn't known Morgana when she was “good” and he was glad. Leon used to sympathize with her, Gwaine knew. But to him, Morgana was evil. And evil people were enemies. It was quite simple really.

He hated Morgana. His mother’s death at her hands only solidified that. The witch was going to pay, one way or another, and he intended to be a part of that.

“Gwaine?” Fira asked quietly from where she sat on the dock, leaning against the half rail.

He grinned and pointed at his friend. “Just you watch. Someday I'll kill her.” He took a large drink.

Fira sighed but forced a smile on her face. “I plan to be a big part of that.”

“Let's get back. You need to sleep,” Gwaine ordered, hoping she would accept his excuse for returning. “You look dead on your feet.”

She knew Gwaine was trying not to look weak. And, truth be told, she was exhausted. The entire day had drained her.

“Yeah,” she said with a nod. “I am tired.”

Together they walked back through the village. The houses they passed stood ominously in the dark, far too quiet. With the entire town gone, no noises sounded but the crackling of their campfire. Leon and Elyan sat on guard.

Gwaine refused to sleep. He stood on guard, taking swigs of alcohol and watching over the forms of his sleeping brothers.

“Go to bed, Gwaine,” Fira grumbled sleepily as she rolled over and found him still standing an hour later.

Leon and Elyan didn't dare join in. They weren't sure how Gwaine was going to react. The truth, they figured, was simple. Gwaine was already prone to fitful sleeping on a good day. Elyan figured nightmares, but didn't dare voice his concerns. So it was only natural that Gwaine refused to go to bed after a day like he’d experienced.

Gwaine didn't answer Fira, instead grabbing another bottle and sitting down around the fire with Leon and Elyan. Gwaine began the smirk and then chuckle.

“Who would've thought,” he whispered, his chuckles quiet.

Leon look at him in concern. “Thought what?”

“Morcades de Bois, my mother, joining Morgana.” He took another drink and pursed his lips, the laughter still sounding. “Only to be killed by her ally.”

Elyan exchanged a glance with Leon. “You alright?”

Gwaine brushed off his question with a hand motion. “You do realize we just wiped out the entire monarchy of Somerset?” He giggled. “We just overthrew their crown!”

Elyan had been thinking about that. But more important was the fact that Gwaine was giggling. That was bad. It meant he’d had way more to drink than even he should have.

“Alright,” Elyan smiled. “That's enough alcohol for you.” He reached over and went to grab the bottle but Gwaine grabbed his arm.

“No.” Gwaine growled, a fierce look of determination in his eyes. All mirth disappeared. “I may be drunk, but I could still best you.”

Leon didn't want to test that theory. Instead he went straight in for the kill, hoping to get Gwaine to quit. “How are you supposed to protect your brothers if you're this drunk?”

The look on Gwaine’s face made Leon regret his words all but immediately. The knight stood, wobbled a bit, and then drew his sword.

“Gwaine,” Elyan warned, standing up with Leon, hands out stretched in peace. “Gwaine this isn't you. This is your rage and your drunkenness.”

Gwaine’s lip twitched in anger, brow furrowed. He looked from Leon to the sword, and from the sword to his brothers. With a quick movement moments later, he sheathed his sword. As he did so, he nicked the palm of his left hand.

“Shit,” Gwaine sputtered as he felt the pain rush in.

Elyan went quickly to the medicine bag nearby and drew out bandages. Fira, who had been watching the entire exchange through half-closed eyes, reached out and touched the wound. She breathed the spell for infection.

“You want to wrap it?” Elyan asked her, realizing she had woken up.

Fira scoffed. “I'm going to bed. You all just make too much noise.” She shuffled in her bedroll and turned away from them.

Elyan and Leon both gave light laughs at her reaction. Elyan approached Gwaine with the bandages and went to wrap his wound.

“I can do it,” Gwaine protested. “Let me do it.”

Elyan shook his head. “No.”

“What do you mean, no?” Gwaine looked at him in surprise, his drunken mind quite confused.

“I'm going to do it.” Elyan smirked. “You're too drunk.”

Gwaine rolled his eyes and held out his hand. “Fine.”