Our Spot • A Sir Gwaine Story

chapter 4

Trigger warning: detailed description of an panic attack. Please read with caution <3

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Training was painfully slow. We were out there for hours practising moves I knew of by heart. But for some reason muscle memory was failing me. Every offence was sloppy and misplaced. My hands were slick with sweat within my gloves bringing immense discomfort to the point I was dropping my sword mid duel.

Every clash of a sword put me on edge, as if my body was preparing for something. What I have no clue. I can tell by the worried looks of my peers that I'm not acting like myself. I don't feel like myself. Not matter how hard I try to focus my mind drifts to Kyeyar. Is he safe? Has he been caught? Everything is spinning and it feels as if the ground is melting under my feet. I collapse under the force of a particularly harsh blow.

"Gwaine what has gotten into you today?" Arthur questioned, helping me off the floor after a very quick duel. I simply shrug and resume my stance. However as I go to strike all I can see is Kyeyar's face, filled with horror and disgust as I wield the weapon he detests. My grip loosens around the hilt of my sword as I avoid Arthur's parry. The rest happened quickly, a miscalculated strike and a yell of pain. Not from myself but Arthur. Shit.

"Arthur are you alright? Shit I'm so sorry." I say frantically, quickly applying pressure to the seeping wound on his side.

"I'm fine, but I think you need to leave. You clearly aren't with it today." When I make no indication of leaving Arthur pushes my hand away and sits up with a grunt. "Go. That's an order."

I stand shakily and watch as Arthur was swarmed by the other trainees. A piercing ringing bounces through my skull sending my brain into overdrive. Everything feels too much, as if my senses are dialled up to eleven. My heart thuds against my ribcage so fast it could burst through at any moment. I feel my ribs heaving as if bound by ropes, straining to inflate my lungs. My head is a carousel of fears spinning out of control, each one pushing my mind into blackness.

I manage to tear my eyes away from Arthur and head back to the armoury. I make sure to keep my vision trained to the floor, not wanting the dizziness to take control.

Upon reaching the armoury I become aware of a faint voice calling to me. A hand grazed my arm, a tiny movement but enough to tip me over the edge. I whip round and push the figure away, no longer able to keep my breathing at bay. Every breath feels like my last, my throat growing tighter every passing second.

"Gwaine what the hell?" Percival. He followed me. Why? Why would he possibly care about me?

"Gwaine breathe." My vision disfigured, as if I were looking through a fish-eye lens. Thoughts are accelerating inside my head. I want them to slow so I can breathe but they won't. My breaths come in gasps and I feel like I will black out. My heart is hammering inside my chest like it belongs to a rabbit running for its skin. The room spins and I squat on the floor, trying to make everything slow to something my brain and body can cope with. I feel so sick.

"Gwaine what's wrong." His voice seems so distant yet so close it only adds to the nausea. The room churns underneath me, pulling me down like the tide. Huge waves crash at my feet dragging me further into an unforgiving sea of dread.

"Enough Percival."

"I'm only trying to help you."

"Well stop. Just stop." I feel something resting on my shoulder and my mind is flooded with images, screenshots of events that leave me with scars no power can heal. Kyeyar with a rope. Kyeyar on the pyre. Kyeyar with his head in a basket.

"Stop!" Everything goes silent. Just screams. His screams? My screams. Liquid drips on to my balled fists. When did I start crying? What is wrong with me?