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Kay really didn’t have time to duel some knight. He’d tried to communicate as much- his real work mattered more than contests, or at least that’s what Gawain kept telling him. The knight wasn’t interested in excuses.
He wasn’t too interested in sportsmanship either.
Thus Sir Kay found himself prisoner of one Sir Tarquine. The trip back to Tarquine’s castle was rough and Kay almost wished he were unconscious. His captor would not stop talking about Lancelot- apparently they were sworn enemies, which reminded Kay a little too much of Maliant to be comfortable thinking about- and this was all part of Tarquine’s plan to lure Lancelot in.
Kay bit his tongue just shy of telling Tarquine he couldn’t have picked a worse hostage.
His initial panic faded as they rode on. If Tarquine needed a hostage he’d keep Kay alive at the least. Instead it was a miserable defeat and lingering dread which Kay carried most of the way. Until they arrived at the forest.
Twisted half dead trees rose before them, as if the land itself was tainted by its master’s evil. Hanging in their branches were shields, dozens upon dozens, in any way Kay looked. Many he knew, if not by name then by sight. Kay didn’t need Tarquine’s smug narration to know what this meant. Hundreds of knights had faced this man- this monster- some captured, some dead. All in pursuit of Lancelot. How could such a thing slip the kingdom’s notice? Kay felt his panic swell, but his bonds were tight and Sir Tarquine only laughed at Kay’s struggles.
Kay couldn’t hide the sound he made when he spied Sir Gareth’s shield, so battered it nearly fell in two. He couldn’t bear the thought that Gareth might be dead- no, he must be alive. He was strong, like Gawain had said, he wouldn’t go easily.
Kay found these thoughts of little comfort.
Eventually they came to a castle, where guards eagerly emerged to take Kay on to the dungeons. He couldn't manage a struggle. His wounds ached but heavier still was his heart at the thought of his dear friend killed in such a senseless way.
The guards dragged him down a twisting staircase into the depths of the castle. Below he could hear voices- some talking quietly, others moaning in pain. The dungeon was sparsely lit, with the only light coming from narrow windows high up on the walls. As they emerged from the passage, Kay saw a huge cell, holding dozens of men. In the darkness it was impossible to see who, or how many.
The guard roughly shoved Kay into the cell. He was lucky to keep his balance. Immediately heads turned towards him, silent eyes judging him and his wounds. Kay took a step back on instinct, and felt his back brush against the cell bars. This was no court meeting, and Arthur’s faith in him meant nothing here. (If, indeed, it meant anything anywhere. That was a nasty thought though, and Kay was trying so hard to believe Arthur when he said such things now.)
“Well don’t just stand there and bleed,” a familiar voice huffed. Kay squinted into the darkness, and spied Sir Lionel sitting against a wall, with one arm cradled close to his chest and a scowl that was caught half way between annoyance and pain. Beside him was another figure, wrapped in Lionel’s cloak and very, very still. As Kay looked closer, he recognized him as Ector, Lancelot’s half-brother, and shivered. Hector was never still, even at court.
Kay took a few shaky steps towards the middle of the cell, scanning the wall for any empty spot he could take. Eyes clung to him, as well as whispers and grumbles he tried not to listen to. Kay stumbled, his wounds stinging sharply, but he dared not make a sound.
“Sir Kay!” Gareth’s voice, weak and raspy, broke through. Kay gasped, immediately scanning the darkness for his friend. He finally spotted him, huddled against the wall with a hand outstretched. It occurred that Gareth might not have the strength to do any more. Kay rushed to his side.
He was stumbling by the time he reached Gareth, his wounds ached. Gareth looked worse up close, pale and sweat drenched with blood crusted bandages around his chest and a rough sling holding his left arm. He still clasped Kay’s hand as the older knight sank down against the wall next to him.
"Here, let me see those wounds," Gareth leaned forward, "I'm no Gawain, but I can help."
Kay hesitantly shifted forward, and opened his arms so Gareth could see the gashes there and on his side. He thought Gareth really shouldn't be taking care of him, not when Gareth himself was so injured. He almost said as much, before Gareth started cleaning the gashes. Kay bit his tongue against a hiss of pain.
"I'm sorry, it'll sting," Gareth murmured, "Gawain says that means it's working."
He sounded so young then, desperately clinging to his older brother's words. The hint of hope that crept into his voice and Kay's heart both at Gawain's name stung almost as much as the wounds.
"You don't need to," Kay finally managed to say, "I mean that you're injured."
"Nonsense. You know I need to keep my hands busy."
Gareth's tone stayed cheery, if hoarse, but Kay could hear a forceful note under it. He wouldn't win this argument, and he had no desire to exhaust his friend any further. Gareth continued cleaning the wounds, his brow furrowed with careful focus. It reminded Kay painfully of earlier days, when Gareth was just an anonymous kitchen boy. These thoughts made him all the more aware of the eyes and whispers that still clung to him. Arthur may have pardoned Kay's crimes, but this was a long way from Camelot. Here, in the half-dark these knights watched their precious fourth prince clean the wounds of a man they considered a murderer and traitor.
Kay ought to move away. He shouldn't taint Gareth's reputation further with his presence. (Because he knew they whispered about Gareth now too, and he knew it had something to do with the months Kay spent in exile.)
Gareth finished bandaging the last of Kay's wounds and sat back with a satisfied hum. "I still have a cloak, here. You should rest."
“I shouldn’t -” Kay pulled away, only for his breath to catch at the desperation in Gareth’s eyes.
“No, please! It- it gets very cold here.”
“Alright.”
Kay sat back beside his friend. There were more eyes, boring into him from all angles, but he tried to ignore them. Gareth relaxed, tension melting away as if he’d prevented something horrible. He looked exhausted.
Kay was almost surprised when Gareth leaned his head against Kay’s shoulder. Gareth made a soft sound that was almost happy, and Kay knew he couldn’t pull away now. He waited while Gareth’s breaths evened out, still raspy but steady. Kay gently repositioned Gareth's cloak to cover them both, and let his friend's comforting presence lull him to sleep.
---
Kay was startled awake some time later by a sharp cry. Squinting into the dark, he saw Sir Lionel cradling Sir Ector.
"It's alright," Lionel murmured gently, "I'm here."
Ector's hands grasped the back of Lionel's tunic like a drowning man grabs the driftwood that might save him. Slowly Lionel soothed him back to sleep. Kay heard Lionel whisper out a stuttering prayer, as if the sorely needed words were unfamiliar to him. Kay found himself holding Gareth closer. He remembered again Gawain's assertion of Gareth's strength. Hopefully it would be enough.
---
When morning finally came the cool sunlight did little to warm the cell. Kay's wounds were throbbing when he woke, and his stomach ached. He wondered if Tarquine had been starving these knights, but he dared not ask. Gareth blinked sleepily up at him.
"You're still here."
"Our host would hardly let me wander," Kay tried his best to sound grumpy, like his imprisonment inconvenienced him. He was rewarded with a weak but bright smile from Gareth. In this miserable cell that felt amazingly precious.
Around midmorning there was some commotion upstairs. The knights in the cell tensed at the sound of the running, armoured footsteps of the guards. A painful silence stretched as the world held its breath. Would this bring their rescue, or another prisoner added to their ranks? Dread boiled in Kay's stomach.
The silence was shattered by the sound of the guards returning, leading another prisoner. Kay heard a scattering of curses and whispered prayers from the gathered knights. Kay cast a glance at Gareth to try to judge his friend's reaction. He was alarmed to see how pale and pained Gareth looked, and how he seemed to stare off at nothing in particular.
"Gareth?"
"Huh?"
"Is everything…" What could he even ask? Everything wasn't alright obviously. And then the guards shoved Sir Gawain into the cell.
---
Gawain had been appalled by Turquine's plan and tale. To capture or kill so many knights in the name of vengeance on Lancelot was disturbing. He had tried to convince the other knight to simply go to Arthur's court, seeking justice through the proper channels or at very least challenge Lancelot when he next passed thought, instead of waiting in the woods for him to wander by. It seemed Gawain's silvered tongue was little use here, though.
Many of the captured knights stood at Gawain's entrance. He did his best to dismiss their concern. He'd been more stunned than hurt in his capture, though he worried about Gaheris, who he'd parted ways with shortly before encountering Turquine. Gaheris was a strong leader and archer, but one on one he often struggled.
Gawain spied Kay, his face pale and bearing an urgent expression on one end of the cell, and Gawain made his way to him. Closer he saw Gareth, leaning into Kay's side with obvious pain on his face. Gawain moved quicker.
"Sir Kay, Brother," Gawain's hands were already reaching for the limited medical supplies available. Gareth blinked up at him.
"Gawain…" His brow furrowed, like talking took all his concentration, "Are you hurt?"
"Just some scrapes and bruises. You?"
Gareth lifted his sling, only to flinch when that jostled his arm. Gawain shook his head.
"The point of the sling is to keep it still, Gar."
"I know, I'm just-" Not thinking clearly Gawain filled in mentally.
"You're cold?"
"Mhm."
Gawain took his cloak and wound it around Gareth's shoulders. In the same moment he grabbed Kay, or had been trying to slip away from Gareth.
"Don't."
Kay didn't respond, but he stayed where he was, which was enough for Gawain. Gawain finished checking Gareth's wounds- the younger knight had done a good job keeping them cleaned and cared for, so it was likely he just needed rest. Then he turned his attention to Kay. After a few moments of silence had passed, and Gawain was sure Gareth was asleep, he spoke. "Gareth's done well with your wounds, and you've done well with him."
"I didn't see Sir Gareth's wounds."
Gawain fought a frown at the 'sir'.
"That's not what I'm talking about. And I think you know that."
Kay rested a hesitant hand on Gareth's shoulder. Gawain settled in on Gareth's other side. Now all that was left was to wait for their rescue.