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Chapter Text

No. 1 - ALL TRUSSED UP AND STILL NOWHERE TO GO (bound) + No. 2 - gagged

Lancelot craned his head around as his captors meandered around their little campsite under the light of a full moon. His hands had gone numb a while ago, having been tied behind his back for hours now. His feet were similarly bound, and a gag tied tightly around his mouth, digging painfully into his cheeks. He shivered, his cloak and chainmail having been taken. One of the mercenaries had donned his knight's uniform and departed from the group, and Lancelot knew they had to be up to foul purposes, but he wasn't in a position to do anything, all trussed up on his side and no wiggle room.

That didn't stop him from squirming though and trying to loosen his bonds.

One of the men strode over and kicked him in the back. "Knock it off," the man growled.

Lancelot coughed into the gag as pain radiated up his back, and he fell still. He wondered why they'd kept him alive—and how long they intended to.

"Gareth should have been back by now," one of them muttered.

"Be patient," another replied. "He has to bide his time for an opening."

Lancelot's stomach churned with worry, a sensation that wasn't helped by the filthy rag stuffed in his mouth. His side was aching and he wanted to roll over, but knew he'd receive another kick for trying.

Suddenly there was a gust of wind and thwacking sound. Lancelot turned his head up in time to recognize the dark shape of a dragon in the night.

The mercenaries screamed as massive claws snatched them up and vicious teeth snapped at the others. Lancelot had nowhere to go to get out of the way of being squashed himself, but the dragon landed far enough away to only shake the ground beneath him. Lancelot twisted around to look as Merlin slid off the dragon's head and rushed over. He dropped to his knees and immediately pulled the gag out.

"Are you hurt?"

Lancelot shook his head and spat into the grass. "Merlin, you have to warn Arthur—"

"I know," Merlin cut him off, leaning over to undo the ropes around his wrists. "Someone dressed as a knight tried to kill Arthur tonight, but he failed and was killed himself. No one knew where he came from, but I recognized a patch of stitching in the cloak he was wearing and knew it was yours." He untied the ropes around Lancelot's ankles and helped him sit up. "I thought searching with Kilgharrah would be faster."

Lancelot swallowed around his parched throat and nodded to them both. "Thanks." He rubbed at his chafed wrists.

"Let's get you back to Gaius," Merlin said, gripping his arm and helping him stand. "You want to fly back?"

Lancelot cast a wary look at the dragon, who gazed mildly back at him. "Uh, sure…"

Merlin grinned. "Don't worry, I won't let you fall."

Lancelot shook his head in fond amusement. "I'm counting on that."

Chapter Text

No. 3 - STICKS AND STONES MAY BREAK MY BONES BUT... (insults | "Who did this to you?")

Lancelot had gone through hazing when he'd first come to Camelot to become a knight, before he'd proven himself to Arthur and received the honor of being knighted. Now that he was truly a knight by his own name and merits, he thought his position was assured. He'd underestimated the offense some of the noble-born knights had taken from his lying and forgery the first time around. And they remembered him.

Lancelot grunted as he was shoved back against the wall, the impact jarring enough that he barely got his arms up to shield his torso from the fists that followed. But he couldn't protect every inch of himself, and his assailants were determined, delivering pummeling blows to his stomach, arms, and lower sides of his back. He knew fighting back would only get him in worse trouble, which was why he focused on protecting his head and hoping they didn't decide to take things further than the last few times they'd cornered him.

There was a shout of outrage, followed by Percival grabbing one of the knights by the back of his shirt and bodily throwing him aside. He pushed his way into the center of the melee and planted himself in front of Lancelot, careful to keep his arms out in a defensive stance rather than attacking the knights. Percival knew better too.

"Back off," he warned.

Lancelot cautiously eased his arms down and sagged against the wall at his back.

The other knights glowered at them.

"You watch yourself," one of them snarled. "Neither of you belongs in the knighthood."

"Prince Arthur says differently," Percival responded, head held high.

"We'll see what the king says when he recovers."

If Uther recovered. Rampant rumors suggested that might not be a possibility.

The knights, however, ceased their attack and skulked off.

Percival turned around, expression pinched. "You all right?"

Lancelot shrugged, only to wince as the movement pulled on abused flesh and blossoming contusions.

Percival's mouth turned down further. "You should go see Gaius."

"You know why we can't," Lancelot rejoined with a pointed look.

"This can't continue."

Lancelot dropped his gaze and said quietly, "It's not entirely unjustified."

"If Arthur knew—"

"Arthur has enough to deal with right now." Lancelot straightened and turned to head for his chambers. Percival wordlessly followed.

Once behind the safety of a closed door, Lancelot gingerly removed his shirt while Percival retrieved the medicinal supplies hidden in one of the cabinets. They had, unfortunately, developed a routine when it came to instances like this, though Lancelot was certainly the more frequent target of the two.

Lancelot sat quietly as Percival tended his bruises and the few nicks made from a ring cutting at the right angle from a punch. The knights of the nobility were always careful to inflict injuries that wouldn't be easily seen.

Lancelot inwardly scoffed. Nobility. How he'd held the concept in such high regard.

The door to his chambers suddenly burst open as Gwaine came barging in, Elyan and Sir Leon right behind him.

"I'm telling you, we should vote on tomorrow's patrol route. Through the orchards…" He cut off as he turned from speaking to Elyan and Leon and found Lancelot and Percival in their current position.

Lancelot tensed, his torso and its discolored bruising laid bare.

"You can't knock?" Percival chastised.

The other three knights stared in dismay.

"Who did this to you?" Leon finally demanded.

Lancelot grabbed his shirt and shrugged it back on. "It's nothing."

Leon looked at him in bewilderment. "That's not an answer."

Lancelot shared a glance with Percival, but neither said anything.

"It was the noble arses, wasn't it?" Gwaine said.

Lancelot and Percival blinked at him in surprise, though Lancelot supposed he should have expected Gwaine to also be on the receiving end of harassment, probably Elyan too, for being commoners. He'd just been so busy hiding his own shame he hadn't thought to look out for them.

"You too?" Percival asked quietly.

"They've messed with me a few times. I made it not worth the trouble, though." Gwaine frowned at Lancelot. "Did you not fight back?"

"No," Lancelot admitted abashedly. "I thought that would make it worse, if they wanted to bring accusations against me. It'd be my word against theirs."

Gwaine snorted. "If Uther was still running things, I'd say that definitely would be how things went. But he's not. And these varlets wouldn't dare bring charges against us to Arthur."

"I don't think Arthur would appreciate his knights brawling in the castle halls," Lancelot added softly.

"Better than taking a beating every week."

Leon gaped at them in astonishment. "Have you all been targeted?"

Percival shrugged. "Sometimes."

"I've been on the receiving end of some taunts," Elyan added. "But with Arthur openly courting my sister, nobody's done more than that."

"Percival's size probably scares several of them," Gwaine put in.

Lancelot looked away, ashamed to be the "weak link" among them.

"I'll take care of it," Leon suddenly declared.

"You don't need to make a bigger deal out of it," Lancelot quickly protested. "It will probably die down eventually."

"This kind of behavior goes against the Knight's Code," Leon snapped, though it was clear his anger was directed at persons not present in the room. With that, he pivoted sharply and strode out.

The rest of them exchanged silent looks. Then Percival gestured for Lancelot to pull his shirt off again so he could finish tending his injuries. Lancelot did so, and Gwaine and Elyan stayed, though neither of them said anything.

In fact, none of them spoke of it again, but a few days later those troublesome nobles were looking grouchily chastised as Leon shot them icy, disapproving glares.

And the bullying stopped.

Chapter Text

No. 4 - "Do you trust me?" + No. 22 - THEY MADE ME DO IT

Lancelot pushed a branch of thick foliage aside. "Merlin, where are we going?"

"I found a way to banish the evil spirit," Merlin replied, leading the way deeper into a dark part of the forest.

"How?" Lancelot asked.

Merlin paused to look back at him. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course."

Merlin resumed his trek, and Lancelot followed, confused that Merlin wasn't letting him in on the plan. Maybe he was worried the evil spirit could be lurking around and would overhear them.

"How are we going to lure it all the way out here?" Lancelot was happy to help Merlin with these magical problems, if only so he didn't have to face it alone, but there wasn't much Lancelot could do against an intangible threat.

"I have a plan," Merlin answered without stopping or looking back.

Lancelot sighed and pressed on.

They came upon a small clearing lined with carven stone markers. Dark green moss covered the almost black rock, and Lancelot felt an uneasy prickle in the hairs on the back of his neck.

"What is this place?" he asked.

"A sacred place to channel magic," Merlin said, and there was an odd note of anticipation in his voice.

He suddenly spun around, a dagger in hand, and struck out, the edge of the blade slashing Lancelot across the throat. Lancelot shot a hand up in shock, followed by a fierce burn as hot blood poured out between his fingers. He gaped at Merlin in wide-eyed confusion as he dropped to his knees. His breathing hitched, which only intensified the searing pain in his throat. He couldn't speak.

Merlin smirked down at him, his eyes suddenly flicking to solid black marble. Lancelot choked and wheezed in horrified realization that the spirit they'd been hunting had managed to possess his friend. When Merlin's lips moved, it was with his voice, but the tone was all wrong. Cold, chilling.

"Your blood here will secure my ability to permanently inhabit this body." His mouth curved upward in delight. "And then I will be even more powerful."

Lancelot's limbs were shaking, and he slowly toppled onto his side, unable to do anything as he gradually bled out on the cursed ground.

Then Merlin suddenly staggered with a grunt.

"No," the spirit snarled, nostrils flaring in rage.

Merlin had to be fighting it, Lancelot knew it, and he wished he could help but he didn't know how, even if he could move with his life blood spilling out of him.

Merlin grunted again, bowing forward under the pressure of something Lancelot couldn't see. He silently pleaded with his friend to keep it up, to fight it.

Then Merlin threw his head back with a scream, and a gust of wind whipped through the trees. Merlin dropped to his knees and a wispy phantom went spiraling through the air shrieking. Merlin lifted his head, eyes blazing with righteous fury. He slammed one hand down into the pool of Lancelot's blood spreading out across the ground and thrust his other toward the spirit. With another scream, it exploded with a concussive burst of air.

The clearing was suddenly still and silent. Merlin turned to Lancelot, eyes widening in horror.

"No." He scrambled closer, hands shaking as he reached for Lancelot's neck.

Lancelot opened his mouth to comfort him, but no words fizzled out. He was feeling cold and sleepy, and his hand finally fell away from clutching his throat.

"No, no, no," Merlin rambled, then uttered a spell. His eyes flared gold, but nothing happened. Lancelot's eyes were fluttering closed, and he hated that Merlin would blame himself for this. It wasn't his fault…

"No!" Merlin shouted louder. Gritting his teeth, he slapped his bloody palm in the pool of Lancelot's blood again, and reached out with his other to cover the gash in Lancelot's throat. This time when he cast a spell, Lancelot jolted. The magic felt different, not like Merlin. Strong, yes, but also harsh.

But in the next instant, the pain was gone, and Lancelot blinked as he felt the overwhelming weakness dissipate. He reached a trembling arm up to feel his neck, but it and his hand were so slick with blood that it was difficult to feel for the jagged wound.

"I'm so sorry, Lancelot," Merlin gushed.

Lancelot carefully sat upright. "It wasn't your fault. The spirit made you do it."

Merlin shook his head, still distraught. "I should have fought harder, broken through sooner to warn you."

Lancelot captured his shaking hands in his own, both of them covered in blood. "You did save me."

Merlin's eyes darkened. "By tapping into the power of this place. I never want to do that again."

Lancelot looked around the creepy clearing. "Is the spirit gone?"

Merlin nodded. "For good."

Lancelot exhaled in relief, then looked down at himself. "We should probably find a river to clean up in before heading back to Camelot."

Merlin grimaced. "Yeah."

Lancelot pushed himself to his feet, wobbling at the effort. Merlin grabbed his arm to help hold him steady.

"Are you all right?" he asked worriedly.

"Well, I'm not dead," Lancelot replied. "So, yeah. Are you okay?"

Merlin winced. "Well, I'm not possessed, so yeah."

They shared commiserative looks at that and then turned to hobble their way homeward.

Chapter Text

No. 5 - I'VE GOT RED IN MY LEDGER (betrayal | misunderstanding)

Though Lancelot had been restored to life and the shade that Morgana had resurrected banished, not all was well. The heinous act of betrayal that Lancelot had committed while under Morgana's control festered in his mind's eye. A stain of evil and dishonor he couldn't wash away, because it was a part of him, woven into a soul that had been rescued yet still rent asunder.

Everyone looked at him with disgust, wariness, and perhaps even a little bit of fear. He'd been touched by dark magic, tainted by it. They'd welcomed a monster disguised as their friend back into the fold and now that Lancelot was himself again, the mistrust lingered. Lancelot was adrift, trying to come to terms with the torment he endured while floundering to find his place among the living again.

He left his chambers to seek out Merlin, the one person who wasn't actively avoiding him, the one person who understood what atrocity his soul and body had been subjected to. He heard Merlin's voice down the hall and turned toward it. But then Arthur's voice stopped him cold.

"How has it come to this? That I can't trust those closest to me anymore?"

"You still have friends you can trust."

"There's no going back from this, Merlin."

Lancelot retreated, his chest tightening. He understood why no one could trust him anymore, but that didn't make it hurt any less. He wished he had stayed dead. Why couldn't he have just stayed dead? Everything he'd ever devoted his life to, wiped away in this vile desecration of his body and soul.

Lancelot knew he had to leave Camelot.

He returned to his chambers, which weren't really his since he had been dead for a year, and so he didn't really have anything to pack. He grabbed a jacket and shrugged it on. His sword was in the corner, not confiscated, surprisingly. He decided to leave it.

A knock sounded at his door, startling him.

"Come in," he called tentatively.

Merlin entered, bearing a plate of food. "Hey. Just wanted to see how you were doing."

"I'm fine," Lancelot said.

Merlin looked at the half-eaten plate from lunch and arched a brow at him. "You need to eat."

"I will," he placated hollowly.

Merlin set the second plate on the small table and frowned at Lancelot. "Are you cold again?"

He shrugged. He was cold all the time, like the shade had left that taint as well.

Merlin walked over to the fireplace and with an uttered spell, stoked up the flames. He turned back and eyed Lancelot in concern. "Need anything else?"

Lancelot shook his head. "I'm tired. I think I'll just go to bed."

"Okay. But try to eat something first. I'll bring you breakfast in the morning."

He turned to leave, but Lancelot called his name. Merlin looked back at him.

"Thank you, for everything," he said.

Merlin smiled. "I'm really glad you're back."

Lancelot's throat tightened, but he managed a small nod, and Merlin left. Lancelot hated to leave without saying goodbye, but he knew his friend would try to talk him out of it. But it was the right thing to do.

He waited for the dead of night and then slipped out. The halls were dark, shadows cast by the sconce torches chasing amber light back and forth down the walls and floor. He knew where to stop and avoid the nightly patrols, and was able to sneak out to the gate. He did not expect someone to be lurking in the shadowed alcove as he passed.

Lancelot pulled up short when he recognized Arthur, leaning one shoulder against the stone and gazing despondently down the lane toward Gwen's house. Arthur startled at his presence.

"Lancelot. What are you doing out here this late?"

"I…"

Arthur's eyes narrowed and he flicked a look toward Gwen's house.

"No," Lancelot exclaimed. "I would never…I- I'm leaving Camelot."

Arthur's suspicion turned to confusion. "What? Why?"

Lancelot dropped his gaze. "Do you really have to ask? I don't want to cause anymore problems."

Arthur was silent for a moment. "You don't have to leave, Lancelot," he said, far more gently than Lancelot would have expected.

"I know you don't trust me, and I can't fix it. I can't fix what I've done. So it's better if I leave."

"That's not true," Arthur said. "What happened to you wasn't your fault."

"It doesn't change things. And…I overheard you tonight. It's not just you that can't trust me either; I can feel it from the other knights too."

Arthur's mouth turned down. "I was talking about my uncle and Morgana, family that betrayed me, not my friends who were cursed and had no control over their actions."

"Then why did you banish Guinevere?" Lancelot asked softly.

Arthur sighed and shifted his gaze longingly back toward her home. "I didn't banish her. I just…need some time."

"I understand, and I don't want to be a constant reminder to you of what happened."

Arthur turned to consider him for a long moment. "Where will you go?"

Lancelot faltered; he didn't have an answer. He hadn't given any thought to it.

Arthur waited a few more moments before shaking his head. "Come back inside, Lancelot. Camelot is your home and I'm not going to let Morgana take that from you. She was already responsible for taking your life the first time, and even though her intentions were ill, she did manage to give you back to us. Despite everything that happened, I'm grateful for that."

Lancelot swallowed hard and looked away.

"Your sacrifice was never forgotten," Arthur went on. "Thank you," he added earnestly. "For saving Camelot."

"My actions at the Veil may have never been forgotten, but that's not what people see when they look at me now. How can I stay? I don't belong anymore."

"Then we'll remind them," Arthur replied.

Lancelot forced himself to meet his king's eyes. "Can you honestly bear to look at me?"

Arthur hesitated. "I admit, it is still fresh in my mind. But I'll come to terms with it. There aren't many people I can trust, but you've always been one of them and always will be."

Lancelot looked away, voice breaking. "I don't want to betray you again."

"You didn't betray me at all."

"I did."

Arthur opened his mouth to argue but Lancelot barreled on.

"I know it wasn't by my will but I remember everything. And I don't know how to look at myself. Or live with it."

Arthur was thoughtful for a moment. "I suppose we all need time to heal."

Lancelot took a steeling breath. "And distance. I'll go away for a while, and return when things here have calmed down."

It was a hollow promise, one he didn't feel any conviction to keep.

Arthur shook his head. "You've always left thinking it was good for everyone else; why don't you do what's good for you this time?"

Lancelot looked away again. He had no home outside of Camelot, no friends, no place to go. If he did actually leave…there was a good chance he'd merely wander until he found occasion to die.

Arthur reached out and clasped his shoulder. "Stay, Lancelot," he said sincerely. "Don't let this be Morgana's last word.

All the resolve Lancelot had worked so hard to muster crumbled under the kind contact. He nodded mutely.

Arthur walked him back inside the castle. "Tomorrow I'll send for Gwen…and the three of us can talk."

Lancelot's stomach cramped in discomfort at the thought of that, but Arthur seemed genuine in his desire to repair their relationships. Lancelot supposed they had to start somewhere. And maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to remove the stain on his soul and be whole again.

Chapter Text

No. 6 - TOUCH AND GO (bruises | touch starved)

Merlin knew without the words needing to be spoken that Lancelot was leaving again. And he knew there was nothing he could do to change his mind. But he could at least tend his friend's minor wounds before Lancelot slipped away in the dead of night.

He waited until Gwen and Arthur had bedded down, then picked up a water skin and quietly approached Lancelot, eyes silently asking permission. Lancelot gave him a fond look and sat down on a mossy log. Merlin pulled off his neckerchief and wet it, then picked up one of Lancelot's hands and began to clean those nicks and abrasions first.

Lancelot patiently endured the ministrations, even when Merlin moved on to the cuts on his face. Neither of them spoke, companionable actions speaking louder than words anyway. As Merlin was finishing up, he noticed some bruising peeking out from beneath the collar of Lancelot's shirt. The discoloration was too prominent to have gotten them in today's escape.

"Take your shirt off," Merlin instructed.

"That's not necessary—"

Merlin cut him off with a domineering look. Lancelot sighed and began to shrug out of his chainmail. Merlin didn't miss the winces he tried to bite back.

Merlin held back his own sigh when he got a full look at the mottled bruising on Lancelot's shoulder. "I have some salve for that," he said and went to dig it out of his pack.

"Thank you," Lancelot said softly.

Merlin came back over and rubbed some of the balm into his shoulder. He noticed more discoloration around Lancelot's back and automatically reached out to carefully prod it the way Gaius would when treating a patient. Lancelot's hand shot up and snagged Merlin's wrist in a vise-like grip. Merlin froze, and Lancelot blinked, looking equally stunned. He quickly released Merlin's wrist.

"Sorry," he murmured abashedly. "It's been a while since I've been around company I could trust not to slip a dagger past my guard."

Merlin's heart ached at the loneliness in his friend's voice and everything that he had endured, alone. Again, he wanted Lancelot to stay, to come back to Camelot with them. Surely he could still respect Arthur and Gwen and not come between them.

But then Gwen would have to choose, and as much as it pained Merlin, he understood Lancelot's decision to stay away. So he kept his silence on the matter and gave his best friend the only thing he could.

Merlin dipped his fingers into the salve and gently applied it to Lancelot's bruises. He went slowly, taking his time with gentle touches and tender ministrations, hoping to remind his friend he was loved and cared for, to remember what it was like to feel safe. It was the only parting gift Merlin could give him.

And when he was finally done, they exchanged sad looks as Lancelot slipped his tunic and mail shirt back on. There was no need for verbal goodbyes; their somber expressions were enough. Besides, Merlin had hope he'd see Lancelot again, someday. It was the only solace he had as his friend eventually slipped away while Gwen and Arthur still slept, leaving Merlin to watch the solemn approach of dawn alone.

Chapter Text

No. 7 - MY SPIDEY-SENSE IS TINGLING (blindness)

Merlin sat ramrod straight on the ground, muscles coiled, palms digging into the soil beneath him, his only anchor in a sea of pitch black. He raised one hand to rub at his eyes.

"Don't touch them," Lancelot's voice resounded like a crack in the silence. Merlin startled and turned toward the sound.

He heard the crinkle of dead leaves as Lancelot approached and crouched down beside him. Then a hand was cupping his chin and Merlin tried not to flinch. He knew it was Lancelot, but the darkness was disorienting.

Lancelot tilted his head up just slightly and began to gently wipe a cold, wet cloth over and around his eyes. It was a little soothing to the burning sensation.

"We should get you to Gaius," Lancelot said.

"How are we going to explain this to Arthur?" Merlin bemoaned. It was a front, though, to hide how much he was freaking out over his predicament.

He and Lancelot had gone hunting for a dangerous beast lurking in the woods near Camelot, figuring Merlin's magic would prove a more useful weapon against it. But before Merlin could take it out, it'd spat a glob of venom into his face, and the next thing Merlin knew, he couldn't see a thing. He'd stumbled and fallen while the sounds of shrieking echoed around him until Lancelot had slain the creature.

Lancelot continued to carefully wipe off Merlin's face. "Is that any better?" he asked worriedly.

Merlin forced his eyes open and blinked against the blackness. His heart constricted. "No," he choked. What if this was permanent? He couldn't continue to be Arthur's manservant if he was blind. He wouldn't be able to protect Arthur, to see him fulfill his destiny.

Lancelot gripped Merlin's arm and hauled him to his feet. "Gaius probably has something. Don't panic yet."

Merlin swallowed hard and tried to follow his friend's advice as they began the slow, careful trek back to Camelot. Merlin stumbled over every step, clinging to Lancelot fearfully. Every sound in the woods set him on edge, even though they were commonplace and he wouldn't have been afraid if he could see. His heart rate ratcheted up and his breathing intensified. His ears strained to identify every potential threat. Then, gradually, he not only recognized the sound of the lark but could also feel where it was mid-flight, like he could see the ripples of air from its wings. Which wasn't the case because he was still blind, but he knew without knowing how where exactly it was. And he sensed the hare hiding in its burrow and the vibrations of termites in the tree to his right. The myriad of sensations were so overwhelming that he missed the disturbance in the woods until Lancelot suddenly pulled up short.

"Well, hallo lads," a rough voice spoke.

There was a crinkle of foliage, and Merlin felt the presence of five figures stepping into their path.

Lancelot shifted his grip on Merlin, freeing one hand to inch toward the hilt of his sword. "We don't want any trouble."

"That's too bad, because you've got it," the voice replied. "That's some nice mail and boots you got. Why don't you hand them over?"

Merlin jolted as Lancelot abruptly nudged him to the side and propped him up against a tree. Then came the scritch of steel being drawn from its scabbard.

"You're outnumbered," the bandit warned.

Lancelot didn't respond, and in the next instant one of the bandits let out a charging cry. The air erupted with the clang of swords.

Merlin clung to the gnarled bark, desperately trying to differentiate the sounds as battle raged several feet ahead of him. Someone let out a cry of pain and he tensed, hoping it wasn't Lancelot. But the fighting continued, until someone else grunted and the discordant screech of steel finally stopped.

"You'll pay for that," the lead bandit snarled, and Merlin's heart dropped into his stomach. There was the sound of flesh hitting flesh.

Someone seized his arm and yanked him away from the tree. He couldn't keep from yelping in surprise and terror as he was flung to the ground.

"Leave him alone!" Lancelot shouted. Another dull impact and grunt followed. Lancelot gasped as Merlin heard more blows land.

His magic rose up within him, desperate to act, but he couldn't see. Lancelot was being beaten right in front of him and Merlin was helpless to do anything.

The sounds around him grew louder, crisper—Merlin could suddenly pinpoint every resonating heartbeat standing over him, could see in his mind's eye the displacement of air with each descending fist. The evil intent of these ruffians pulsated like gray shadows against the darkness. Merlin focused with all his might and sat up straight, unleashing an explosion of magic directly at them. Screams rattled the air as the bandits were flung several feet through the air, and then the forest was silent.

"Lancelot?" Merlin called frantically, twisting back and forth. "Lancelot, are you all right?"

The sound of shifting leaves announced Lancelot crawling toward him, followed by a firm hand clasping his wrist. "Yes," he said, albeit sounding winded. "Stay put for a second."

The loss of contact felt like Merlin was once again falling into the abyss, but before panic could grip him, he realized he could track Lancelot's movements as he went around to check on the bandits. Through the pitch blackness of his lost sight, Merlin could sense his friend's aura, something he'd never noticed before.

He wasn't startled when Lancelot made his way back to him and helped him to his feet.

"Glad you didn't hit me with that little burst of magic," Lancelot commented.

Merlin stopped. "I never would have risked that."

"Is your sight returning?"

"No, I just…I knew I wouldn't hit you."

Lancelot was silent for a moment. "Well, that's impressive."

They resumed their journey home. Merlin's sight did begin to return in spots and blurred grays, though it was a far cry from being able to walk himself into the castle to see Gaius. Still, the improvement gave him hope.

And when Arthur asked what the hell happened, they could honestly say they were just minding their own business when they were attacked by bandits. And no one gave the murderous beast another thought.

Chapter Text

No. 8 - COUGHING UP A LUNG

Merlin's pulse thudded against his jugular as he stood in the woods, facing down a sorcerer. And not just any sorcerer, but one who knew Merlin's identity.

"Join me, Emrys. We should be fighting side by side."

Merlin exchanged a look with Lancelot, who'd been out with him picking herbs when the sorcerer had confronted him.

"You mean waging war against Camelot," he said.

"Camelot is the enemy. Uther has slaughtered us for years."

"Uther isn't in charge anymore," Merlin rejoined. "Arthur is."

"He's no better than his father."

"He is," Lancelot put in.

The sorcerer's eyes flashed darkly. "You stay out of this. You wear the uniform of Uther's knights."

"Our loyalty is to Prince Arthur," Merlin said staunchly.

The sorcerer blinked at him dubiously. "You stand with the enemy? Against your own kind?"

"Violence will only make people fear magic more," Merlin argued.

"Violence is the only language kings understand."

The sorcerer thrust his hand out, fingers crooked. His eyes flashed gold.

Lancelot suddenly doubled over, blood spurting from his mouth as a vicious cough seized his chest.

Merlin shot a horrified look between his friend and the sorcerer. "Stop it!"

"Pledge yourself to our cause in blood."

Merlin gaped at him in horror. He would never bind himself to anyone like that, not even Arthur.

"Merlin, don—" Lancelot cut off with another cough, spitting up more blood.

"What do you say, Emrys?" the sorcerer demanded.

Merlin steeled his shoulders. "No."

The sorcerer's nostrils flared and he torqued his wrist. Lancelot dropped to his hands and knees, heaving violently.

Merlin had no choice. He thrust his own hand out toward the sorcerer and unleashed the full wrath of his magic. A gust of wind burst outward, punching the man in the chest and throwing him thirty feet through the air. He collided with a tree with a bone-crunching crack and then fell into a contorted heap at the base.

Merlin had no time to feel remorse as he rushed to Lancelot. The coughing up blood seemed to have stopped, and Lancelot collapsed onto his side, wheezing. Merlin gripped his shoulders frantically, his stomach lurching as blood continued to dribble out the corner of his friend's mouth. Whatever the sorcerer had done, it was internal, and Merlin didn't have a way to treat that. Not physically anyway.

He rocked back on his haunches and focused all his effort into casting a healing spell. He felt his magic ruffle the air, but there was no way to tell if it had actually worked.

"Lancelot," he said urgently.

Lancelot's eyelids fluttered open. "I'm…all right," he rasped.

"Don't lie to me," Merlin snapped. "I don't- I don't know how to fix it…"

"The pain's gone," Lancelot whispered. He reached a shaky hand up to touch his sternum. With a wince, he turned his head and spat out a glob of blood.

"Are you sure?" Merlin pressed.

Lancelot nodded, eyelids drooping closed. "That was…very unpleasant."

Merlin huffed. "I'll make a fire. Don't try to move, okay?"

"Mm-hm."

Merlin stood up and hastily grabbed what kindling he could immediately find, then piled it up a few feet away from the blood splatter on the ground. With a muttered spell, flames burst up into a full-fledged campfire. Merlin then went back and helped Lancelot stagger away from the blood and lie down in front of the warmth of the fire. At least he had ceased to cough up more blood. Merlin would be pushing for him to make it back to Camelot and Gaius if he thought there was anything the old physician could do against internal bleeding caused by magic.

He was suffering from shock, though, so Merlin took off his coat and laid it over his friend, then cast another healing spell for good measure.

He sat in the woods like that for a long time, listening to the crackle and pop of the fire, eyes constantly trained on Lancelot and watching for a hitch in his breathing or signs of any distress.

Eventually Lancelot became more lucid and started to shift.

"How do you feel?" Merlin asked anxiously.

He didn't answer right away, brow furrowing as though he were considering the question. "A bit worn out." He started to push himself upright, despite Merlin's sputtered protest. "I think I'm okay," he said, pressing a hand to his chest.

"You sure?"

Lancelot nodded. "Thanks."

Merlin dropped his gaze. "There's so much fear and hate on both sides. How can there ever be peace and magic in Camelot?"

"Time," Lancelot replied. "And hard work to undo the prejudices of the past. But neither of us would be here if we didn't believe it was possible."

Merlin looked up, mouth quirking with a small smile. "You're right. Are you ready to head back? No doubt I'm going to be in trouble with Arthur for being late."

Lancelot carefully got to his feet and handed Merlin his coat back. "Don't worry, I'll tell him you weren't at the tavern."

Merlin rolled his eyes but smiled.

Chapter Text

No. 9 - RUMORS OF MY DEATH HAVE BEEN GREATLY EXAGGERATED (blind rage | tears)

Merlin knew something was off with Lancelot. He didn't remember Merlin having magic. And his story about how he survived the Veil…it didn't fit with what Merlin knew had happened. The Veil demanded a life sacrifice, and Lancelot had given it. Whoever this was standing before them, it wasn't their lost friend.

The test to prove Lancelot was a shade was like a dagger through the heart. Not only was this person not Merlin's best friend, it was a puppet of Morgana's. Merlin didn't know why she'd resurrected Lancelot and sent him back to Camelot like this. He'd had a chance to kill Arthur in the tournament and hadn't taken it. But Morgana no doubt had sinister plans in mind.

Merlin's rage kindled inside him. His friend, the most noble knight of them all, who'd sacrificed himself to save Camelot, to save Merlin, had been so heinously violated that Merlin couldn't stand it. No, he wouldn't stand for it.

He left the castle and in the woods disguised himself as Dragoon, then sought out Morgana. He knew where her hovel was. Bolstered by his disguise and his wrath, Merlin stormed right into the clearing outside her abode, catching her by surprise. Emrys terrified her, and Merlin drew power from that as well.

"You've crossed a line, Morgana," he intoned, deepening his voice with a rumble like thunder. "Using necromancy to defile an honorable knight."

Morgana's fear briefly turned to confusion. "Why should you care about that?" she asked with false bravado.

"Because I stand for the good in the Old Religion, not your twisted corruption of it." Merlin's heart constricted. "And I won't let you destroy a good man's soul."

Morgana's lips curved upward into a smirk, and she drew up a tiny vial on a cord around her neck. Inside was a glowing blue spark. "This soul?"

Merlin's breath caught in his throat. He had only a cursory understanding of the necromancy used to resurrect a shade, knew the soul of the victim was bound and enslaved, but he hadn't known she would have it physically in her possession.

Morgana canted her head toward the glowing vial and tutted. "I had been saving it as a keepsake, but if it's so important to you…" She tightened her fist around the vial and her eyes flashed amber as she summoned up her magic.

Merlin didn't wait to see what she planned; he unleashed all his rage without warning, his magic slamming into Morgana and throwing her through the air into a tree. The vial fell out of her hand.

She whipped her head up and threw a burst of magic back at him. Merlin flung a hand up and blocked it, then cast another. Morgana repeated the move in an attempt to shield herself, but Merlin's wrath knew no bounds now that it had been released, and he sent her spiraling through the air again.

She struggled onto her hands and knees, eyes wild. "He is still mine!" she spat.

Merlin saw red and launched another spell at her, this time a targeted spear of magic that went straight through Morgana's body and through her soul. He felt when it snapped her connection to Lancelot and she screamed. She threw a fireball at him, which he barely ducked away from in his aged body. When he straightened, she had fled.

But that didn't matter. Merlin turned and went over to pick up the vial supposedly containing Lancelot's soul. The moment he touched the glass, he felt the resonance within, and he could have wept. It was his dear friend.

He needed to get back to Camelot, needed to somehow return Lancelot's soul to his body and then…hope for a good outcome.

Merlin hurried back, stopping halfway to age himself back. When he arrived at the castle, however, he immediately could tell something had happened. Guards and servants were clustered together, whispering. Merlin's heart dropped into his stomach. Had he been too late to stop Morgana's plans coming to fruition?

He sprinted through the corridors to the main hall in search of Arthur. What he found was like another dagger to the core. Lancelot was laid out on a table, pale and still as death. The other knights were gathered around, looking confused and devastated. Gwen was in tears.

"What happened?" Merlin exclaimed.

"We don't know," Gwaine replied quietly. "He just…collapsed. There was no heartbeat, no…" His expression pinched with pain and he reached out to clasp Merlin's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

Merlin shook his head and threw a desperate look at Gaius, who was standing on the other side of the table. Gaius merely returned it grimly.

"How could this have happened?" Elyan said. "We just got him back."

"Do you know what could have caused this?" Arthur asked Gaius, voice choking up slightly.

"It's difficult to say," Gaius hedged, but he threw a subtle glance at Merlin again.

Merlin felt sick. That shade had just been a puppet, an extension of Morgana. And Merlin had severed that connection.

He clutched the vial in his pocket. It still thrummed with life. Maybe if he returned it to its mortal shell, it would bring Lancelot back… But he couldn't just wait for a private moment to try. If it worked, how would he explain it? How would he ensure Lancelot's safety if he came back from the dead and this time everyone knew he'd been actually dead?

Merlin wracked his brain for a solution. Maybe there was a way, but it'd be risky. Still, he had to try.

He turned and fled, ignoring the shouts of his name behind him. He found a secluded place and transformed into Dragoon again, then took a breath and made his way back toward the hall. He was, of course, caught by some guards before he reached it, but he was known among them now and immediately brought to Arthur and the others where they were still gathered around Lancelot's body.

"You," Arthur exclaimed, back going ramrod straight.

"Did you do this?" Gwaine demanded, and Merlin flinched at the sheer hatred directed at him from his friend's eyes.

"It was Morgana," he said. He explained how she had resurrected Lancelot as a shade under her control, how his story about surviving the Veil was a lie. He told them he fought with Morgana in order to retrieve the knight's soul and held up the glimmering vial toward Arthur. "You can still save Sir Lancelot," he declared.

Arthur looked at him skeptically, but he reached out and tentatively took the vial. "How can I be sure you're telling the truth?"

Merlin snorted in affront. "He's dead, isn't he? You think I can make it worse?"

Arthur looked torn but also desperate, and he turned toward Gaius, who gave him an encouraging nod. Merlin watched with bated breath as Arthur carefully uncorked the vial and tipped the shimmering light against Lancelot's mouth. It slipped past his lips and disappeared with a fading glow.

There was a long moment in which nothing happened, and Merlin's heart fell with devastation. But then Lancelot sucked in a sharp gasp and his eyes shot open. Everyone startled and staggered back a step.

Gaius grasped Lancelot's arm to steady him as he sat up and looked around in confusion. "Arthur? What…what's going on?"

Arthur eyed him warily. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Lancelot frowned. "Walking into the Veil. But…did it not work? If I'm here, is the Veil still torn?"

Arthur slowly shook his head, still looking cautious. "No, that was several months ago. You did save us."

Lancelot's brows furrowed further and he looked around again. "I don't understand…" He caught sight of Merlin as Dragoon and his frown deepened.

"It's a long story," Arthur said and turned to Dragoon. "I suppose we owe you a great measure of thanks," he said tautly.

Merlin sneered. "Don't hurt yourself saying so. Now, are you going to tell your goons to release me since I saved your knight?"

Arthur looked as though he were considering not letting Dragoon go, but after a tense moment, he nodded for his guards to stand aside. Merlin carefully backtracked and then fled. No one followed him, and he found an alcove to change back.

Taking another harried breath, he hurried back into the chamber. "Was that Dragoon I saw?" he blurted.

"Yes," Arthur said tightly. "He came here to save Lancelot."

Merlin tried to look completely surprised. "Just like that, huh?"

"Well, apparently Lancelot has been, uh, not himself," Gwaine said.

Merlin quirked a confused brow at him, and the knights proceeded to relay what Dragoon had told them.

"I still don't understand," Lancelot said, looking utterly lost and a bit unnerved.

"Neither do I," Arthur admitted.

"Sire, I suggest Lancelot return with me to my chambers to rest," Gaius interjected. "He's been through quite an ordeal."

Arthur nodded.

Gwen hurried forward to help Lancelot slide off the table, but Merlin was quick to take her place.

"I got it," he said with a smile.

She looked reluctant to let go but did so anyway.

With Merlin and Gaius hemming in an unsteady Lancelot, the three of them made their way to the physician's chambers.

"I was dead?" Lancelot asked tremulously.

"Yeah," Merlin replied. "And undead."

Lancelot started looking a bit green at that.

Once inside Gaius's chambers, they ushered Lancelot into Merlin's room where he could lie down.

"I don't know how you did it, Merlin," Gaius said, "but that was quite a miracle."

"You have no idea. I didn't know Morgana had Lancelot's soul on her when I went to confront her."

"Which was foolish," Gaius interrupted.

"But we got Lancelot back, and whatever Morgana had been planning didn't come to pass."

Merlin shot a concerned look at his friend, who appeared to still be in shock over everything.

Lancelot lifted a haunted gaze to them. "Did I do anything bad?" he asked hoarsely.

"No," Merlin assured him. "Whatever Morgana's intentions were, she never got to carry them out."

Lancelot nodded in relief.

"Get some rest," Gaius advised. "We can discuss this more later."

Lancelot gave a shaky nod and closed his eyes. "Merlin, thank you."

Merlin had been about to leave with Gaius to let Lancelot rest, but he changed his mind and sat on the edge of the bed instead and took his friend's hand. "I'm right here if you need me," he whispered.

Chapter Text

No. 10 - OOPS, I DID IT AGAIN (hospital)

This was not Lancelot's first time waking up in a hospital, and it was no less disorienting, though he at least didn't have a panic attack this time around. The antiseptic smells that offended his senses were his first clue, followed by the rough sheets that did nothing to keep him warm in the sterile cold air.

He prized his eyelids open and squinted at the unfamiliar but not unknown surroundings. Merlin was sitting in a hard plastic chair by the hospital bed and gave him a warm smile.

"Why am I here?" Lancelot groaned.

Merlin rolled his eyes. "You got hit by a car. Again."

Lancelot furrowed his brow as he tried to remember. Their latest mark had turned out to be more desperate than they'd anticipated and tried to kidnap their client. Lancelot had jumped onto the driver's side door in an effort to stop them, but he couldn't hold on. He remembered going flying across the asphalt and then the screech of tires and trying to scramble out of the way, but he apparently hadn't been fast enough.

"Linda?" he croaked.

"She's fine," Merlin assured him. "She managed to jump out of the car when it momentarily stopped to throw you off. Anderson was arrested soon after. The others are busy clearing out before the police come looking."

Lancelot roved his gaze around his hospital room, then down at himself. "Is it bad?" Why hadn't Merlin just used magic to heal him?

"You were knocked unconscious," Merlin answered. "My magic can handle a lot of things, but in this case I prefer to consult an x-ray first. You're fine, by the way. Just a little banged up."

Lancelot relaxed marginally. "Then can I get out of here?"

Merlin smirked and stood up. "I'll get the doctor."

"Thanks."

After Lancelot's first experience in a hospital after being spat out of the Lake without warning and stumbling onto a road to get hit by a vehicle, he never wanted to set foot in one again, especially as a patient.

Merlin paused at the foot of the bed. "Just stop going up against cars like they're griffins. It never goes well."

"I did kill the griffin eventually," Lancelot argued, even though it'd actually been because of Merlin enchanting the lance, and they both knew that.

The warlock smirked and headed out.

Lancelot dropped his head back against the flat pillow and sighed. The modern world had many wonders, but he definitely wasn't a fan of the automobile.

Chapter Text

No. 11 - JUST KEEP SWIMMING (adrift | dehydration)

If they survived this, Lancelot vowed no more jobs on boats. Granted, they hadn't expected the mark to leave the dock, nor for him to have discovered they were trying to con him and shoot a loaded gun until Lancelot and Elyan jumped ship to escape. The plunge into seawater had shorted out their comms, leaving them adrift miles from shore.

Bullets zinged through the water as the mark continued to fire blindly. Lancelot kicked his way beneath the keel for cover, twisting around in search of Elyan. He spotted him floating several yards away, arms extended and not moving. Lancelot surged toward him. Elyan's eyes were closed and small plumes of red were staining the water from a shallow crease along the side of his head.

Lancelot grabbed hold of him and pulled him close, waiting tensely for the shooting to stop. His lungs were starting to burn and he was terrified for Elyan, who couldn't hold his breath while unconscious. But surfacing while the bad guy was still trying to kill them wasn't going to help matters.

Lancelot's chest hitched, releasing a flurry of bubbles. He wasn't going to be able to hold on much longer. Then the boat's engine revved up, and Lancelot propelled him and Elyan the opposite direction as it turned and sailed away. Once the water above was clear, Lancelot kicked his way to the surface, breaking through with a heaving gasp for air. Water splashed around him and into his mouth, and the burn of his lungs almost made him sink under again, but he snapped himself to attention and gave Elyan a rough shake.

"Elyan!"

There was no response. Lancelot frantically reached for his jaw to feel for a pulse while simultaneously tilting his ear to his mouth to see if he was breathing. Elyan coughed and spat up some water.

"Elyan," Lancelot called again.

All he got this time was a moan. Bright red was glistening down the side of Elyan's head.

Lancelot twisted around, trying to find the shore. It was a distant thin line on the horizon. Steeling his jaw, he pulled Elyan up against his chest, angling his head up and away from the water, and began a one-handed backstroke toward land. It wasn't long before each kick and stretch felt futile, Lancelot straining with all his might while the shore loomed the same distance, so far out of reach. But he kept going. He had to get Elyan to safety.

The sun beat down on them, salt water splashing into Lancelot's mouth as his lungs heaved from exertion. The liquid only made him more parched. His arm and leg muscles burned. He tried to focus on one stroke at a time. Lunge, kick. Lunge, kick. Don't stop. Keep going.

"Lancelot? Elyan!" a harried voice exclaimed.

Lancelot didn't register the other alarmed shouts, didn't process the shallow bank scraping his knees. Hands seized Elyan and tried to pull him away, and Lancelot flailed, frantically trying to keep a hold of him.

"Lancelot, it's us!" Merlin's voice pierced the haze. "We got you. You can let go."

Lancelot blinked dazedly at the smudged faces surrounding him. He surrendered Elyan and immediately fell limp, which plunked his head under the surf. More hands grabbed at him to pull him back up, then dragged him out of the water. He tried to keep his feet, but his legs felt like jello.

"Lancelot?" Arthur called worriedly.

Lancelot stared at him blankly as he collapsed back against the sand. He thought someone said hospital before everything faded to black.

The next time he woke, it was to that dreaded beeping sound. Lancelot groaned and prized sticky eyelids open.

"Hey," Leon spoke from his left.

Lancelot squinted at him sitting by the hospital bed. "What happened?" he croaked.

"The mark made us, you and Elyan went overboard, and then you swam all the way back to land with him in your arms. At least, that's what we figure. Elyan looks like he got grazed by a bullet and doesn't remember. And you were so dehydrated and exhausted, it's not surprising you'd be fuzzy on the details."

It took Lancelot a delayed moment to process all that. "Elyan okay?"

"He'll be fine," Leon assured him. "A bit dehydrated and sun burned like you, and the graze to the head wasn't serious."

Lancelot let his eyes drift closed. That was good. He could relax, then.

"You've gotten like four IV bags of saline," Leon went on. "Need a trip to the bathroom?"

Lancelot thought about it harder than he probably should have had to. "No."

"That's not surprising either. The doctors seemed concerned earlier, but you're awake now and your electrolytes are balancing out. Percival's with Elyan and the others are out cleaning up the mess."

Lancelot hummed. "No more boats," he mumbled.

The chair squeaked and Leon patted his arm. "No more boats," he agreed.

Chapter Text

No. 12 - IT'LL BE FUN, THEY SAID (torture | made to watch | begging)

Gwaine slouched in his saddle as his horse lumbered along behind the others. The knights had been on a week-long patrol with no action and Gwaine was bored. He perked up when he realized they were close to a town with a tavern.

"Hey," he said, nudging his horse to the lead. "There's a town just a few minutes' ride from here. I'm gonna go get some more supplies."

Percival quirked a flummoxed look at him. "We have enough to make it home."

"Just enough," Gwaine countered. "Better to be prepared than sorry."

Leon narrowed his eyes, apparently not buying it.

"Seriously, it's not even out of the way," Gwaine went on. "I'll be back in no time."

Leon flicked a considering look over the other knights and their lighter packs. "Alright. But get the supplies and come right back. No stopping for a drink!"

Gwaine gave him a look of mock affront. "Do you not trust me?"

Leon scoffed. "No. Lancelot, go with him."

Gwaine merely shrugged blithely in the face of being assigned a babysitter and turned his horse toward the town, Lancelot falling into step behind him.

They went straight to the local tradesman to make their purchase, and after handing over some coin, the man said he'd get everything together.

Gwaine clapped his hands. "Splendid. I'll make a quick stop into the tavern while we're waiting."

"Gwaine," Lancelot half sighed. "Leon said…"

"What Leon doesn't know won't hurt him."

Lancelot shot him an exasperated look, which Gwaine ignored as he sauntered down the street and into the local establishment to order an ale. The drink was refreshing after a week of water and rations.

A burly man came up beside him at the bar counter, pressing too close. "You're in my seat."

Gwaine turned slightly and arched a brow, then made a show of looking down at the stool from multiple angles. "I don't see your name on a placard on it."

The guy's friend standing a step behind him leaned in to hiss under his breath. "He's a knight."

Gwaine tutted. "Don't let the uniform put you off; I could easily whip you without it."

As expected, the burly man threw a fist in response. Gwaine ducked under the swing and came up again to hit back. His punch didn't really do much against the man's brawn, but Gwaine wasn't a scrappy fighter for nothing. He took a couple hits while landing a few mild ones of his own before he maneuvered himself into a spot where he managed to trip the local and send him sprawling into a table, breaking it on impact and effectively disorienting him.

Gwaine went back to the counter and picked up his drink, knocking back a long drag. He gave the tavern keeper some extra coins to pay for the damages. And on his way out, he paused over his opponent and tossed the remainder of his drink into the man's face.

"Next time make sure your name is actually on the seat," he said and turned toward the exit, only to find Lancelot standing in the doorway giving him a pointed glare.

"You just can't help yourself, can you?" Lancelot said.

Gwaine shrugged with a grin. "It's not like I started it."

"But you always have to finish it."

Gwaine clapped him on the shoulder as they walked out. "You could take a lesson from me on that."

Lancelot rolled his eyes.

They collected their supplies and loaded up their saddlebags. Gwaine was just about to mount up when he was grabbed from behind and yanked backwards. Two men had vise-like grips on his arms, restraining him as a third divested him of his weapons. He heard sounds of a struggle on the other side of his horse, and a moment later both he and Lancelot were being dragged away from the town by a group of ruffians. And waiting for them in the woods was the guy Gwaine had humiliated in the tavern.

"Can someone say sore loser," Gwaine remarked as he was brought to a forced stop and held in that unyielding hold.

Lancelot shot him a sharp look across the way where he was likewise restrained.

The burly local came to stand in front of Gwaine, leering in triumph. "I'm not the loser now."

Gwaine snorted. "Yes, with…five men, you're very mighty."

The man's nostrils flared. "You nobles think you're better than everyone."

Gwaine's jaw tightened. Ironic that he'd accepted a position that made everyone think he was of the nobility—which he was—when he'd spent years pretending he wasn't.

"I'll show you you're not that tough," the man went on and drove a meaty fist into Gwaine's stomach.

He doubled over with a ragged dry heave, though the men holding his arms kept him mostly upright.

"If I thought…I was…better than everyone…" Gwaine wheezed. "I'd have just arrested you…for rudeness."

The guy grabbed Gwaine by the back of his hair and yanked his head up. "Ask for my forgiveness."

Gwaine scoffed. "You can't be serious."

He got another punch to the ribs that drove the wind from him. He managed to get out a garbled laugh between gasps for air. "You'll have to…do better…than that."

"Gwaine," Lancelot hissed.

The local brute punched Gwaine a few more times. "Beg me to stop."

Gwaine tasted blood in his mouth and gave what was probably a red-stained smile. Another right hook to his cheek sent spittle of it flying past his lips to splatter the ground.

"He's had enough!" Lancelot shouted, struggling against the men holding him in place.

The blows finally ceased for a few moments. Gwaine spat another glob of blood and saliva out and lifted his head as the brute turned to consider Lancelot. After a long moment, he drew a knife from his belt. Gwaine tensed. Okay, now things were definitely getting out of hand.

But the man didn't turn the knife on him; he strode toward Lancelot instead.

Gwaine stiffened. "Hey—"

The brute plunged the knife through Lancelot's chainmail into his shoulder, earning a loud cry.

"He has nothing to do with this!" Gwaine snapped.

The brute turned back to him, mouth curving upward. "Ah, so that's how to finally get a rise out of you. Well then, Sir Knight, if you won't beg for yourself, how about for your companion?"

He turned back and without warning, yanked the knife out of Lancelot's shoulder, eliciting another scream. He then gestured for his men to drag Lancelot over to a tree where they forced Lancelot's arm out and planted his hand flat against the trunk. The brute shot Gwaine a malicious grin.

Gwaine's heart lurched. "Don't!"

But the man stabbed the knife through Lancelot's hand into the tree. The horrendous scream that tore from his throat reverberated through the woods.

Gwaine spat a slew of curses at these barbarians. "Stop! Alright? Stop! I'm begging you. Leave him alone."

The brute canted his head in consideration. "Mm, I don't think you properly mean it yet." He ripped the blade out of Lancelot's hand and gestured for his thugs to bring the knight's other hand around.

Gwaine struggled and raged against the men restraining him, but the beating had weakened him and every effort made pain zing throughout his body. It wasn't nearly the level of agony Lancelot was in, though.

Yet before the brute could skewer Lancelot's other hand, a bellowing charge sounded from their right, and the rest of the knights came swooping in, swords drawn. Gwaine was pushed to the ground as the men instinctively leaped to fight, but they were no match for knights of Camelot, who swiftly cut them down.

Leon and Percival rushed to Lancelot, who was leaning against the tree and choking on pained sounds. Elyan came over to Gwaine.

"What happened?" he asked worriedly, eyeing Gwaine's bruised face.

Gwaine couldn't bring himself to explain, and an arm around his abused ribs bought him some time as Elyan stepped in to support him.

"The town isn't far," Leon said, coaxing Lancelot into straightening.

"No," Gwaine blurted. "It's probably better if we leave. These men could have been locals."

Leon shot him a suspicious look but nodded his agreement. The ruffians had brought Gwaine's and Lancelot's horses along, probably to steal the supplies after they'd had their fun, so it was a quick matter of gathering up their things and heading out.

Lancelot was flagging quickly as his wounds continued to leave a trail of blood in his wake. Gwaine watched as his footprints stepped over each drop, the stain physically clinging to him as was apropos given how they'd gotten into this mess.

They finally stopped a short distance away so Lancelot's wounds could be seen to. Getting his chainmail off was a painful process, and all they could do was bind his shoulder and hand, needing to get him to Gaius for proper treatment.

"You severely hurt anywhere?" Elyan spoke, startling Gwaine out of his guilty observation.

"No," he murmured. Several places were throbbing and swelling up, but none of that damage was threatening like what Lancelot had endured.

Leon stood up and turned to face Gwaine directly. "What happened?"

Gwaine swallowed hard. "I had a misunderstanding with a local at the tavern," he admitted. "But I never thought he'd bring a gang for revenge."

Leon's expression was livid, but he turned to the others. "Let's move out."

While they got their horses ready, Gwaine went over to Lancelot, still huddled on the ground and looking pale from blood loss.

"I'm sorry," he said contritely.

"I know."

"I'll be more careful. I never meant to put anyone in harm's way."

Lancelot lolled a weary gaze up at him. "None of us like it if you put yourself in harm's way either," he pointed out.

"I wasn't trying to get myself killed," he argued. "There's nothing wrong with a friendly brawl now and then."

"Except when it's not friendly," Elyan put in as he and Percival came over to help Lancelot to his feet and onto Percival's horse.

Gwaine ducked his head abashedly at that.

Getting Lancelot on the horse was a painful ordeal that left him gasping and Gwaine cringing with self-recrimination.

Leon walked past him. "You think Merlin's going to agree with your assessment?" he tossed over his shoulder.

Gwaine grimaced as he realized he was going to have to explain to his friend how he'd gotten Lancelot brutally tortured. Merlin was Gwaine's best friend but that boy was fiercely protective of Lancelot.

That alone was enough to scare Gwaine straight.

For a little while at least.

Chapter Text

No. 13 - Burns

The lower town was in chaos, people running to and fro shouting as flames roared through two homes. Buckets of water sloshed half of their contents across the ground before they even reached the fire that had broken out.

"Form a line!" Arthur ordered, gesturing sharply.

The knights and townspeople fell into place, passing buckets up and down from the well more efficiently than individuals frantically sprinting back and forth. Even so, it was a fierce battle trying to put out the raging fire. Lancelot was near the front, sweating from the sweltering heat buffeting him in the flames' tongue-lashing gales. Under the snapping and cracking of fire devouring wood, however, he thought he could hear crying.

He strained to listen and was certain he could hear children trapped inside one of the homes. So he broke from the line and dashed toward the house, ignoring the startled shouts behind him. He plunged through the burning doorway, only to come to an abrupt halt inside. He threw an arm up over his mouth and nose as cloying smoke instantly smothered him. He swept his gaze around the hazy brume. The roaring fire was louder inside, but so were the screams.

Lancelot finally spotted two children huddled in the back by the bed. A broken ceiling beam wreathed in flames was lying diagonally across the room, blocking the path to them. There was no time to consider his options as the fire blazed all around them with the deadly intent of a dragon's breath. Lancelot grabbed the beam in an attempt to shift it, hissing as flames licked at his hands. But he finally got it to move and crash to the floor, and then he was able to leap over it and rush to the children. He snatched them up, one under each arm, and turned to go back, but the fire had surged up behind him. Lancelot reeled back, yet there was nowhere else to go.

Tucking the children as close to his body as he could, he angled them away from the largest flames and charged through them to outside. The burst of fresh air that hit him burned his throat and lungs and he almost collapsed. Someone urgently took the children from him as someone else ripped his cloak off and tossed it aside, the material blackening under a spot of flames. Then Arthur was gripping his arm and directing him further away from the burning structures.

He was deposited against the side of a building where he began to hack up a bunch of grit. Arthur kept a supportive hold on his arm.

"That was extremely brave but also stupid," he said.

Lancelot coughed raggedly, fighting to catch his breath. "The…children?"

"They're being taken to Gaius, which you need as well."

Arthur pulled Lancelot's arm up over his shoulder, shouted an order to Leon to keep the line going, and then half carried Lancelot up to the citadel where supplies were already being gathered. The children had arrived first and Gaius was looking them over. They were covered in smoky grime and still sniffling but seemed all right otherwise.

Arthur eased Lancelot down onto the front steps of the castle and Merlin rushed over.

"What happened?" he exclaimed.

"Lancelot was the knight in shining armor who saved those children," Arthur answered.

"I only did…what any other…knight…would do," Lancelot struggled to get out breathlessly.

Arthur gave him a considering look. "I'm not sure about that."

Merlin picked up Lancelot's hands and grimaced. Lancelot looked down to find they had suffered some significant burns. He hadn't felt it before, or at least hadn't let himself feel it, too busy trying to save those children.

Merlin retrieved some water and towels and began to clean the burns, which made the pain slam to the forefront of Lancelot's consciousness to the point where he was choking on it.

Merlin winced at him. "I'll be right back."

Lancelot's chest heaved as he got a respite from the excruciating cleaning, but Merlin quickly returned with Gaius, who proceeded to examine Lancelot's hands. He then told Merlin what herbs to get from his chambers, which Lancelot was in too much pain to follow. Arthur stayed by his side while Merlin darted off to fetch the items.

Lancelot tried to breathe through his nose to manage the agony, but the acrid stench of burnt flesh that permeated his nostrils made him want to gag.

Merlin returned and immediately prompted him to drink a tonic, pressing it to his mouth insistently. Since Lancelot couldn't move his hands at the moment, he had no choice but to attempt to choke the medicine down. Merlin then waited a few minutes for the numbing agent to kick in before resuming the cleaning. Lancelot felt lighter and the pain definitely wasn't as bad, or at least more distant.

Merlin gingerly cleaned the burns and liberally applied some salve over them, then wrapped them in clean bandages so thoroughly that Lancelot would not be using his hands for a while like that.

"The burns didn't look that severe," Merlin said encouragingly. "They might not even scar."

Lancelot hummed, feeling drained.

"Can you help me get him inside?" Merlin asked Arthur.

Lancelot didn't hear a response, but he was then being hauled to his feet and supported on either side as Merlin and Arthur carried him through the castle to Gaius's chambers and into Merlin's room where they laid him on the bed and Merlin tucked him in, carefully arranging his hands on top of the blankets.

"I'll check on you later," Merlin said. "Try to rest right now."

Resting was not going to be a problem with whatever Merlin had dosed him with. "What about the fire?" he murmured.

"We're handling it," Arthur said. "You've done your part, Lancelot. More so. You're a hero."

A hero. A real knight. Everything he'd aspired to. And he'd bear the scars to prove it.

Chapter Text

No. 14 - UNDER PRESSURE

Percival swung his torch around the walls of the underground crypt, scanning the chiseled walls of stone. They were bare, leading straight down a rectangular passage to a solid wall at the other end.

"We sure this is the right place?" he queried skeptically.

"There's probably a hidden door," Gwaine replied.

"Our information is as reliable as it can be," Lancelot put in.

Percival shrugged, and the five knights of the Round Table ventured into the passage. A magical object was said to be buried down here, and Arthur wanted them to retrieve it before Morgana could. Safer to be locked up in the vaults of Camelot than this unguarded place.

"Seems too easy," Gwaine commented.

There was a coarse grinding sound, and everyone froze to look around.

Elyan looked down at his feet where one of the stone bricks had sunken into the floor, then up at Gwaine. "You just had to jinx it."

Louder grinding sounded from above, and they all whipped their gazes up to see the rock slab ceiling beginning to slowly lower.

"Everyone out," Leon ordered.

"What about the relic?" Gwaine said.

"You think you have time to find a secret door before you get squashed?" Leon rejoined.

They began their retreat, only for another loud click to resound over the grating rock above, and Lancelot cried out. Percival turned just as he pitched forward onto his hands and knees, a spike having shot out of the wall and harpooned his leg.

"Lancelot!"

The knights rushed back to him. The rod was still embedded in the rock wall, and the spear had gone all the way through his calf, skewering him in place. Loose silt sprinkled down around them as the ceiling continued to descend.

Lancelot choked on a garbled cry as Leon bent to examine his leg. Percival was no physician, but even he knew trying to pull the barbed spike out would rip out whole chunks, and Lancelot would likely lose his leg.

Elyan followed the rod back to the wall and began running his hands over the stone. The lowering ceiling, which had seemed slow at the start, now bore down on them with ominous urgency.

Percival looked between it and his friend, then rushed to the midway point between Lancelot and the exit. He thrust his arms up to push back against the descending slab of rock.

"I just need to find the release lever," Elyan said frantically. He pulled out his dagger and began chipping away at the stone.

"Just go," Lancelot choked out.

They all ignored him.

"Hurry up, Elyan," Gwaine said, flicking his taut gaze between the rod and the ceiling. The weight bore down on Percival's shoulders.

Leon yanked his cloak off and wrapped it around the metal shaft sticking out of Lancelot's leg to stabilize it.

Percival's arms were trembling under the strain now, but he pushed back with all his might. He was the only thing standing between his friends being crushed. His shoulders began to bow, and he felt like his bones were going to snap from the pressure.

"Got it!" Elyan finally exclaimed, successfully digging the buried end of the rod out of its notch in the stone.

Leon wasted no time pulling Lancelot up over his shoulder, bowing low as he carried him out of the tunnel.

Percival had been straining so hard, he didn't know if he could let go. Elyan rushed forward and grabbed him, yanking him away. They staggered out of the passage and doubled over, breathing heavily as the ceiling slab lowered the rest of the way and settled against the ground with a slight tremor, completely sealing the chamber.

"Well, that's one way to keep Morgana from getting the relic," Gwaine said.

Elyan shot him a dry look.

"We need to get back to Camelot," Leon said urgently. "Percival, help me."

Percival shuffled forward and bent down to help Leon get Lancelot up over his shoulder again. Lancelot tried to bite back a groan as the movement bumped the rod in his leg, but they couldn't risk trying to remove it themselves. They needed Gaius.

They made their way outside to where they'd left their horses and Percival mounted his, then reached for Lancelot as he was passed up. The muscles in his arms twinged, but he was able to hold onto his friend, mindful of his leg.

By the time they made it back to Camelot, however, his shoulders had stiffened up so much he couldn't move his arms. For a moment, he froze atop his horse, not knowing what to say. But Leon and Gwaine managed to pull Lancelot down without Percival helping. Getting down himself was difficult, but everyone was so concerned for Lancelot they didn't notice him clumsily sliding out of the saddle sideways.

They all crowded into Gaius's chambers, filling Arthur and Gwen in on what happened while they watched the court physician tend their friend. Percival didn't add anything to the tale. His entire upper torso was in a lot of pain and the only thing keeping him upright was sheer determination to see whether Lancelot would be all right.

Gaius removed the spear and quickly dealt with the bleeding that followed. He concluded that the rod had missed bone, which was a very good thing. Lancelot would have to stay off his leg for a while until the muscle mended, but he was lucky, all things considered.

"Percival's strength saved us yet again," Elyan said proudly, clapping him on the shoulder.

Percival grunted and bowed forward, pain radiating through his arms and back.

"Percival?" Elyan asked in alarm.

Gaius's head snapped up from wrapping Lancelot's leg in bandages. "What's wrong?"

"I'm fine," Percival ground out. "Just sore is all."

"Finish this, Merlin," Gaius instructed and handed the roll of bandages over before coming over to Percival. "Where are you hurting?" he asked sternly.

"Everywhere," he admitted. "Shoulders, back. Arms are kind of numb."

Gaius moved around behind him to palpate those areas. Percival gasped and tried to arch away.

Gaius picked up one of his hands. "Squeeze as hard as you can."

Percival tried, and his grip was woefully weak.

"Well, you still have control of your fingers. It's likely just a severe muscle strain. Come sit. Let's get your shirt off. Would one of you be so kind as to fetch some cold water? As cold as possible."

"Sure," Leon said and left, Gwaine going with him.

"This will likely hurt, but we need to get your shirt off," Gaius went on.

Percival couldn't even lift his arms enough to accomplish that, so Gwen stepped in to help. He clenched his jaw in agony as his stiff muscles protested each small bit of motion.

"You did a very brave thing," Arthur told him.

Percival gave a small nod of acknowledgement. It wasn't something he'd even had to think about.

Gaius rubbed some minty smelling balm into his shoulders and the back of his neck, which was painful to endure. Leon and Gwaine brought back two buckets full of cold water, and Gaius had Merlin soak several strips of cloth in them. Percival sucked in a sharp breath when they laid them across his shoulders and back. They felt like ice. But after a few minutes, the cold actually made his muscles feel better.

"We can move my bed over," Gaius said, nodding to Merlin to help him.

Percival looked over at Lancelot, who was gazing groggily back at him.

"Thanks," he whispered.

Percival smiled and nodded.

Chapter Text

No. 16 - ON A NEED TO KNOW BASIS (scars | aftermath)

There was a lot of triage after Morgana and her immortal army had finally been defeated. Lancelot found a corner to sit in and wait his turn. His shoulder was burning fiercely but he couldn't feel fresh blood seeping down his back, so he knew he wasn't in dire need. He'd seek out Gaius when the court physician didn't have his hands full anymore.

The calm after a battle plus his injury left him exhausted, and he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the stone behind him.

"Lancelot! There you are," Merlin exclaimed.

Lancelot opened his eyes as his friend rushed over.

"Are you all right? You look exhausted."

Lancelot gave him a weak smile.

"Come on, you can have my bed." Merlin reached down to help him up, and Lancelot winced and reached to brace his right arm.

"What the—" Merlin twisted around to see. "You haven't been treated yet?!"

"It can wait until everyone else is seen to."

Merlin made a sound of exasperation. "You and your martyr complex," he muttered as he tugged Lancelot down the hall toward Gaius's chambers.

The physician wasn't in, likely still tending to those in need. Merlin pushed Lancelot toward the bench seat.

"Can you get your chainmail off on your own?" he asked.

Lancelot grimaced as he started to twist his good arm out first. Merlin went to gather some supplies, and Lancelot had managed to get the mail off by the time he came back, albeit painfully. The shirt came off easier.

Merlin walked around behind him. "Looks painful."

A second later, the cold touch of a wet rag against the wound made Lancelot's muscles seize up.

"Breathe through it," Merlin advised.

Lancelot tried to focus on that, although his efforts didn't really help him loosen up the tension in his posture.

"I'll have to stitch it," Merlin said. "I'll crush up some herbs for the pain."

"It's fine," Lancelot replied.

"You don't have to pretend with me, you know. And I know just how painful a wound in that spot is."

Lancelot turned toward his friend as Merlin went to the work counter and began mixing up some herbs. "When were you wounded?"

"A few months ago. I'd been spying on Morgana and Morgause in the woods and they caught me. Tied me up with magical chains and left me to die by the serkets. One of them stung me in the back of the shoulder before Kilgharrah arrived."

Lancelot's stomach tightened. "How did you survive?"

"Dragon magic." Merlin turned around and brought a cup of herby liquid back over.

Lancelot accepted it. "I'm sorry I wasn't around to back you up," he said, dropping his gaze into the cup.

"I came out okay."

Lancelot knocked back the pain relieving potion, then set the cup down on the table. "Will you let me see?"

Merlin's brow furrowed. "It's fine now."

Lancelot just looked at him, and after a moment, Merlin self-consciously pulled his shirt over his head and angled his back for Lancelot to see. There was a scar, right where Lancelot could feel his own injury. A circular, puckered keloid from the serket's poisonous sting.

"Does Gaius know?"

Merlin turned around and slipped his shirt back on. "He didn't need to know. Kilgharrah healed it."

Lancelot's heart ached at how much his friend had to bear alone. "I'm sorry for neglecting my wound. That wasn't my intention."

Merlin's expression softened, and he picked up the horse hair and needle to thread. "I know. You just have a tendency to put everyone first. But when it comes to injuries, will you please let me or Gaius make that determination?"

Lancelot's mouth quirked a fraction. "I'll try. But, Merlin." He reached back to grab his friend's wrist before he could start the suturing. "Now that I'm back, don't keep things from me, even if you think it's not something I need to know. I want to know."

Merlin regarded him for a moment, then nodded. "Okay."

Lancelot let go of his hand and faced forward again, taking a breath to brace himself. There were things about being back in Camelot that would be painful to bear. But there were equally important reasons to be here, and Merlin was one of them.

Chapter Text

No. 17 - FIELD CARE 101 ("Please don't move!" | hemorrhage)

Lancelot carefully picked his way through the forest, his fellow knights and Arthur spaced out on either side. They were on a hunt for a white stag that was rumored to have been spotted in these woods. So far, they themselves hadn't seen it, but they had come across some tracks that belonged to a large deer. Whether it was white or not remained to be determined.

Lancelot was wading through some underbrush when he stepped on some kind of metal plate. There was a releasing click and suddenly a trap snapped up around his leg. Lancelot screamed and fell, the shock of it stealing his senses. Clutching at his thigh, he managed to lift his head and get a look at the iron teeth buried in his calf, blood lining the edges. He shifted and almost blacked out, the smallest movement making metal grate against bone.

People were yelling his name, and a moment later the others swiftly gathered around. Arthur and Leon frantically tore the underbrush away to get a better look while Merlin dropped down at Lancelot's side. Everyone's eyes went wide with horror at the trap.

"Don't move," Merlin urged.

Lancelot was in too much agony to reply that he wasn't going to.

Elyan knelt down and inspected the contraption. "We're going to have to pry the jaws apart, but it won't be easy," he determined.

Percival immediately got into position to do it, and Elyan took hold of the iron jaws as well to add more leverage.

"You need to hold his leg completely still," Elyan said.

There wasn't a lot of space, but Leon and Gwaine wedged themselves in and grabbed hold of Lancelot's thigh firmly. Arthur scooted in behind Lancelot to support his back. Then Percival and Elyan began prizing the jaws apart, and Lancelot couldn't hold back a scream as the teeth chafed against muscle and sinew, fighting to keep hold of their catch. His leg bucked beneath his friends' unyielding grip, desperate to get away from the tearing fire.

It felt like it went on forever, but finally Percival and Elyan managed to get the teeth out of his leg.

"Pull him out!" Elyan said urgently, and Leon and Gwaine swiftly pulled Lancelot's leg back. Once it was clear, Elyan and Percival released the trap and reeled away from it as the jaws snapped closed again with a resounding clang.

Lancelot's leg was still screaming in pain as they pulled him a few feet away to a clearer patch of earth and laid him down. He could feel hot blood pouring from the jagged wounds now that nothing was plugging them.

"Someone cut their cloak into strips," Merlin ordered as he wrapped his hands around Lancelot's leg and applied pressure.

His body jerked and convulsed as he began to go into shock.

Leon yanked off his cloak and tore it into strips, which he quickly passed to Merlin, who used them to bind Lancelot's leg as tightly as he could, sending even more shockwaves of pain through him.

"We need to get him to Gaius," Merlin said.

Percival moved in and picked Lancelot up with barely any effort, making the tree branches above swirl in a dizzying array of greens and yellows. Merlin fell into close step beside them, keeping an eye on his leg to see if it started bleeding through the bandages. Probably the red cloak wasn't the best makeshift bandage for such things…

Every lumbering step jostled Lancelot's body, including his leg, and he was soon lost in an ebb and flow of agony as they hurried back to Camelot. But he didn't fully pass out, and eventually he was carried into Gaius's chambers and laid on the cot where his bandages were unwound. Lancelot resisted the temptation to look.

"Get needle and thread, Merlin," Gaius instructed as he began to clean the wounds, which ignited the fire in Lancelot's leg all over again, and he lay on the patient cot writhing under the physician's ministrations.

Elyan came over to grip his hand in a gesture to help anchor him. Lancelot squeezed back as hard as he could.

"I want the people who planted that trap found," Arthur said. "And any others they have set disclosed and disposed of."

"Right away," Leon replied.

Gaius eventually got all the wounds stitched closed and wrapped in fresh bandages.

"Will he be all right?" Arthur asked.

"The wounds went deep and fractured the bone in places," Gaius replied. "He'll be off that leg for a long while but he'll recover."

Arthur moved closer to stand over Lancelot. "We'll find who did this," he promised.

"Be- careful," Lancelot said breathlessly.

"Don't worry," Arthur told him.

"We need to warn the townspeople not to go into the woods until these hunters are caught," Merlin added.

Arthur nodded, then reached down to squeeze Lancelot's shoulder. "Just rest."

He then headed out. Elyan gave Lancelot an encouraging smile and followed. Merlin slid onto the stool next to the cot, looking like he was settling in for a while.

"I won't lose my leg?" Lancelot asked in trepidation.

"No," Gaius answered, still in the room. "But I'm serious about how long your recovery will be."

Lancelot closed his eyes and swallowed a groan.

"Don't worry," Merlin said. "We'll get you through it. And maybe I can throw in some extra help along the way."

"Merlin," Gaius chided.

Merlin shot the court physician an apologetic grimace, but then flashed a conspiratorial wink at Lancelot. He was going to sneak some kind of magic in at some point, no doubt.

Lancelot smiled back in gratitude.

Chapter Text

No. 18 - THE DOCTOR IS IN + No. 15 - delirium | fever dreams + No. 29 - too weak to move

Gaius stood over his worktable, finishing mixing and divvying up a tonic into several vials and packing them in his satchel. He picked up a neckerchief and wrapped it securely around his face, covering his nose and mouth, then took one of the vials into Merlin's room. Merlin was bundled under several blankets, cheeks flushed with fever.

"How are you feeling?" Gaius asked.

Merlin moaned and threw an arm over his eyes.

"I have some more medicine for you to take." He nudged Merlin's arm until he moved it and pushed the vial into his hand.

Merlin lifted it toward his nose and sniffed, then scrunched his face up and shot Gaius a plaintive look.

"Drink it all," Gaius warned.

Merlin plugged his nose and knocked it back, gagging afterward. "That's vile."

"It's helping."

"Magic would be better," Merlin grumbled. "Why doesn't my magic work that way?"

"For one thing, how would you explain an instantaneous recovery to everyone? So don't even try. Secondly, letting the disease run its course will build up your resistance to it."

Merlin huffed in a pout, then sobered. "How bad is it out there?"

"A third of the court has been stricken with the disease to varying degrees," Gaius replied. "But you don't need to worry about that right now."

"What about Arthur?" he asked, sitting up straighter.

Gaius pushed him back down. "Arthur is still healthy and isolating in his chambers to ensure he stays that way. Now if you will excuse me, I have other patients to see."

Gaius left his ward to rest and took his bag of prepared medicines as he began his rounds. Half of those ill were bedridden, while the other half were only suffering mild symptoms. Still, with how quickly and virulently the disease had spread, Gaius had ordered all those sick or directly exposed to quarantine. They didn't need all of Camelot falling victim to this pathogen.

He stopped in to see Percival first, who was sitting up in bed and clutching a pillow to his chest as guttural coughs wracked his body. Elyan was tending him. With so many people ill, Gaius needed help since he was constantly moving from one patient to the next.

"That mask isn't going to do you any good if you don't keep it on your nose," he reprimanded.

Elyan quickly pulled the cloth up. "Sorry."

Gaius harrumphed and went to check Percival's fever, which was holding steady at moderate. It was the persistent coughing that was taking its toll, preventing him from getting much rest. Gaius gave him two different tonics to drink for it.

"One sip of this one every hour," he instructed them both, setting the medicine for the coughs on the bedside table.

He then moved on to Gwaine, whose symptoms were on the mild side, just enough to make him cranky at being quarantined.

"I don't feel that awful," the knight groused. "I could be out helping. We're short on hands for guard duty, right?"

"You are a walking cesspool of disease and are to stay put until I deem you well," Gaius snipped. He took out a vial of medicine to hand him.

"Oh, come on," he whined. "I don't really need that stuff, do I? It's nasty."

"The sooner you fully recover, the sooner you can get out of here."

Gwaine huffed and grudgingly took a sip of the tonic.

"All of it."

Gwaine glowered at him but at least finished it. "Where's Merlin?"

"Resting. You two are my worst patients, by the way," Gaius added before heading out.

He ran into Leon in the hall.

"Gaius," the First Knight greeted, voice slightly muffled by his mask. "Status?"

"We're managing as best we can," he replied. "As long as we restrict movement throughout the castle, we should be able to contain it."

"Are we certain it's not some kind of magic?" Leon asked anxiously.

"I suppose I can't rule it out, but it's behaving like a natural disease, not one of magic," Gaius assured him.

Leon nodded. "Alright. I've organized the guards as yet unaffected into cohorts for duty so they won't be mixing with too many others."

"Good," Gaius approved. "Remind them to wear their masks properly."

Leon nodded again, and they went their separate ways.

Gaius moved on to Lancelot's room. He was one of the worst off, having been stricken with a very high fever. Gwen was sitting with him, wearing a mask and bathing his brow with a cool, damp cloth.

"Any change?" Gaius asked as he came over.

"No," Gwen said, pained.

Gaius checked Lancelot's temperature and was concerned by how much he was still burning up. If it continued unchecked like this, Gaius was worried about serious complications, or worse. Lancelot wasn't conscious but was twitching and moaning in his febrile state.

"Has he woken to take anything to drink?" Gaius asked.

Again, Gwen regretfully shook her head, her eyes crinkled with intense worry.

"Alright, lift his head. We'll try to get some down him." Gaius uncorked a medicine vial of a stronger tonic and stepped close to the bed as Gwen slid an arm beneath Lancelot's head and lifted it into the crook of her arm. Gaius tipped the vial against the knight's lips, dribbling just a little in at a time.

Lancelot choked and coughed, groaning as he tried to twist away.

"Shh," Gwen soothed. "You need to drink this, Lancelot. Please, for me."

His eyes opened to mere slits, irises glazed with fever. He was clearly not lucid, but something about Gwen's voice helped calmed him and Gaius managed to get all of the medicine down his throat. Gwen eased him back down onto the pillow.

"Is there nothing more we can do?" she asked.

"I'm afraid not," Gaius said. "We just have to wait it out." He reached out to give her arm an encouraging squeeze. "I'll return as soon as I can," he promised. He still had many more patients to see.

Merlin recovered in another two days and was eager to help, though Gaius would have preferred he continue to rest. But Lancelot was still in the throes of a raging fever and Gaius knew he couldn't keep that from Merlin, especially if Lancelot took a turn for the worse…

Merlin was of course upset to learn how sick his friend was, and Gaius consented to Merlin sitting with him, if only because Gwen hadn't left Lancelot's side in days and she needed rest as well.

Gwaine was no nursemaid so Gaius didn't make use of him there once he was released from confinement. Percival's fever broke but that brutal cough lingered, so Gaius made up another special tonic for that.

It took five whole days for Lancelot's fever to finally break, and the ordeal left him so wasted that his recovery was going to be long and difficult. Gaius stood over him, holding a limp wrist in one hand as he measured Lancelot's pulse. It was weak but steady. Gaius moved away to get a mug of broth and brought it back.

"Lancelot," he coaxed. "Come, I need you to drink."

He was awake, but too weak to move or keep his eyes open for very long. Gaius gently lifted his head to help him sip some of the broth. Just a little at a time. Slow and steady was needed at this point.

Lancelot lolled his drooping gaze toward Gaius. "Everyone…else…alright?" he rasped.

"They're fine," Gaius assured him. "You had the worst of it." He glanced at Merlin, who was asleep at the table, head pillowed in his arms.

The door opened and Gwen came in, mask in place. She walked over and smiled down at Lancelot.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, stroking back his sweat-matted hair.

"Mm, tired," he murmured, eyes closing again.

Gwen caressed her thumb across his temple, no doubt lulling him back to sleep. Gaius would wake him in a little bit to take some more broth.

The good thing was that with most of the sick people on the mend now, Gaius was free to spend more time tending Lancelot. He plied the infirm knight with many medicines to help him regain his strength, and between Merlin and Gwen, Lancelot was never left alone.

Arthur came to visit a few days later, once it seemed the disease was on the decline. He wore a mask, since Gaius had insisted those were still necessary for the time being.

"How is he?" Arthur asked.

"It'll be a slow recovery, but I expect he'll make a full one," Gaius reported.

Arthur exhaled heavily in relief and went to stand over his knight. Lancelot cracked his eyes open.

"Sire."

"Lancelot. I'm glad you're on the mend. I expect to see you on the training field soon."

Lancelot gave a weak smile at that.

"I suggest that wait a while for everyone," Gaius interjected. "Until there are no more cases. We don't need to give this disease an opportunity to surge again."

Arthur nodded. "Of course." He patted Lancelot's shoulder. "Rest up while you can."

"Yes, my lord," Lancelot murmured. His small bursts of energy still didn't last very long.

Gaius was determined to see him through recovery, though. And ensure the rest of the castle continued following the restrictions he'd set in place. They did not need a repeat of the past several weeks.

Chapter Text

No. 19 - Stabbing

The clang of steel and bone-rattling shrieks resounded through the woods as the knights battled their latest foe—a giant lizard the size of that griffin from so long ago. A lizard with porcupine like spicules all down its back, which were proving difficult to get past to deliver a significant blow.

Lancelot took his turn trying to strike at it from the front, but its massive jaws snapped at him and he had to backpedal before getting chomped. Percival darted in from the other side, but the lizard spun around to go after him. Lancelot swung his sword down on the creature's tail in an effort to distract it.

It threw its head back with a screech and suddenly its spines shot upright. Lancelot had no time to react as the spicules abruptly launched from the lizard's back like spears. One of them stabbed through Lancelot's shoulder and propelled him back several feet. He tripped and hit the ground hard, agony reverberating through his torso as he landed on a small piece of the spine that had gone through his shoulder. Everything whited out for several long moments, the sounds of battle growing muffled in the background.

"—celot!"

He blinked through watery vision as Merlin's face gradually came into view. He tried to lift his head to see what was happening with the lizard, but the sight of the giant spine through his body made him nauseated, and he squeezed his eyes shut. The screech of steel and animal still seemed distant.

Lancelot rolled his head toward the other spicules lying on the ground around him. "Merlin," he rasped.

Merlin glanced to the side and thankfully understood Lancelot's idea. He threw a look over his shoulder at the battle, jaw tightening as he picked up one of the spines. Then with an extra oomph of power that only Lancelot saw, he threw the spine through the air at the lizard's now partially bare back. The quill pierced its hide easily, and the lizard buckled with a scream of pain, which finally allowed the rest of the knights to charge in and finish the job.

Lancelot dropped his head back against the ground. A few minutes later, Arthur and the others came hurrying over.

"Percival," Merlin said, "I need you to pull the spine out."

Percival took up a stance standing over Lancelot's stomach and gripped the spicule with both hands. Lancelot's breath hitched at the fire the slight contact ignited through the spine, but he knew the next part would be worse.

"Wait for my count," Merlin added as he yanked his neckerchief off and bunched it up in preparation. "One, two…"

Lancelot knew tensing up wasn't going to help but he couldn't stop himself. Percival pulled with one mighty yank and Lancelot screamed. When Merlin pressed his neckerchief against the wound hard, what little breath Lancelot had left punched out in a choking gargle.

"Easy, easy," Merlin urged.

He tried to focus on breathing through the fire, but the pressure Merlin kept applying wasn't making it easy. Voices warbled around him but Lancelot couldn't follow what they were saying. He was getting tired, the adrenaline swiftly bleeding out of his body.

"Okay, I think the bleeding's slowed enough we can move him," Merlin said. "Can you sit up?"

It took Lancelot an extra beat to realize the second part was addressed to him. He nodded and moved his other arm to help give himself leverage. Hands on both sides of him helped, which was appreciated. His vision swam once he was upright.

"Um, he's bleeding back here," Elyan said.

Merlin scooted around to see. "It must have gone all the way through. We need to bind his whole shoulder before moving."

"Here," Leon said, passing him a roll of bandages.

Merlin took it and began to wind the strips around Lancelot's shoulder, neck, and under his opposite arm, keeping the soiled neckerchief packed tightly into the larger wound on the front.

"Okay," he said when done. "Let's go."

Again, several pairs of hands helped Lancelot onto his feet where he immediately swayed and slumped against whoever was on his left. Leon. Merlin ducked in on his right.

"You with us?" he asked.

Lancelot swallowed against the receding nausea and nodded. With his friends hemming him in, they started home.

Chapter Text

No. 20 - LOST & FOUND (solitary confinement)

The darkness was all-encompassing, a morass of emptiness broken only by the cold dank stone beneath Lancelot and at his back. After his initial capture and interrogation for information on Camelot and Arthur—which he'd staunchly refused to give—they'd tossed Lancelot into this oubliette in some abandoned castle with walls of both stone and pitch black. And they hadn't returned for…he wasn't sure how long now. With no source of light, there was no way to mark the passage of time, though his hunger and thirst suggested it'd been at least a day or two.

The isolation and sensory deprivation were taking their toll. Lancelot curled up tighter against the stone wall simply to feel something as an anchor rather than be completely immersed in a void of nothingness. Even though there was nothing but solid darkness, sometimes it felt as though the shadows were moving around him, like living entities simmering in their slumber, on the verge of waking and devouring him whole.

He began to yearn for his captors to return, and tried to remind himself that when they did, he had to remember his fortitude and not give them what they wanted. Even if it meant plunging him back into the abyss. Just one glimpse of light was all he needed, to know the world was still out there and he wasn't lost in the void forever.

Arthur thrust his sword through his opponent, felling him with one blow. He yanked his blade out and spun to meet another. He and the knights had tracked down the men who'd taken Lancelot and launched an assault to take them by surprise. Even so, these hardened ruffians were putting up a hell of a fight. Arthur wanted some taken alive, but they were making it difficult.

Finally the skirmish was over and Leon and Percival had managed to not kill one of them, though the man was bleeding from a handful of wounds. Arthur strode up to him, expression livid.

"What have you done with my knight?" he demanded.

The man sneered back at him. "Couldn't say." He coughed and spat a glob of blood at Arthur's feet.

Arthur gritted his teeth but ignored it.

"Good luck finding him, though," the man went on. "If there's anything left by now."

Gwaine surged forward, leveling his sword at the prisoner's chest. "You will tell us," he snarled.

"Or what?" the man scoffed. "You'll kill me? Won't get your information that way."

A muscle in Gwaine's jaw ticked and he tossed a look at Arthur. Arthur knew what he was thinking—the thought had crossed his mind as well—but he wasn't comfortable with the idea of torturing this man for information. And yet they had to do something to find Lancelot, who had been in the hands of these men for too long already and he wasn't in the immediate area.

"I could make it slow," Gwaine growled, not having the same reservations as Arthur.

The man stared back at Gwaine, undaunted. Then, after a long moment, he suddenly threw himself forward onto Gwaine's extended sword, piercing his heart and instantly killing himself.

Gwaine staggered back, pulling his blade free and staring in shock. Everyone else was equally stunned.

Arthur shook off his stupefaction. "Check the dungeons."

They searched the corridors until they found a passage leading below ground and then hurried down the steps to the dungeon. But a search of every cell revealed they were all empty.

"Search every inch of the castle," Arthur ordered.

They split up into pairs to search the ruins, but the fortress was so large that it took them hours to scour it. And they found nothing.

They all met up again in the main chamber where they'd found the mercenaries camped out.

"I don't understand," Merlin said. "He has to be here! They didn't take him and then just let him go."

Arthur's chest tightened as he considered the other possibility—those men had killed Lancelot.

And yet the knights hadn't come across his body when they'd been searching for him. They'd definitely followed the trail to this place and there'd been no indication Lancelot had been killed along the way. But then where was he? That last man had been willing to kill himself rather than give up Lancelot's location. Was that because he was afraid the knights would actually torture him for the information? He hadn't seemed frightened, though. He'd seemed…vindictive. As though killing himself was essentially killing Lancelot. Which would be the case if they couldn't find him.

"We'll search the castle again," Arthur declared.

"Arthur," Leon said, expression distressed. "We did. He's not here."

"He has to be!" Merlin insisted.

Arthur sighed. "Merlin, Leon's right. Maybe they stashed him somewhere else…"

"And left him without a guard?" Merlin countered. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Neither does the fact that we can't find him," Gwaine put in.

"Maybe we missed a spot in the dungeon," Elyan said. "It was pretty dark down there."

Arthur shrugged helplessly. He was willing to search it again.

But the second time around still didn't yield any results. Everyone was feeling tense with worry, evidenced by Percival slamming a fist against the wall and Elyan pacing in agitation.

"Wait a minute…" Merlin started, straightening sharply. "Oh my god."

He turned on his heel and ran back into one of the empty cells. Arthur and the others followed.

"Merlin, what—"

Merlin had knelt on the floor and was pulling at a ring in the stone. As the rest of them brought all their torches in, Arthur realized there was a trap door in the floor they must have missed on their searches. Twice. Arthur hurried over and helped Merlin lift the heavy door. Sure enough, there was a pit beneath the cell, and Arthur stuck his torch in and leaned his head through the hole to search the bottom. At first he didn't see anything below, but the flickering light of the flames pushed back the veil of darkness and lit upon a pair of boots.

Arthur sucked in a sharp breath and dropped his torch to the floor, then turned around to climb down the ladder affixed to the side of the pit's wall.

"Is he down there?" Merlin asked urgently.

"Stay up there," Arthur said a tad harshly. He didn't know what exactly he was going to find. Thankfully, Gwaine grabbed Merlin's shoulder to prevent him from climbing down after Arthur.

Arthur dropped to the bottom and picked up his torch, swinging it around to the corner. The shadows parted like inky curtains away from a body huddled against the wall. It was Lancelot.

Arthur swiftly crossed the room and crouched down next to him. "Lancelot?"

To his relief, his friend stirred and opened his eyes, only to flinch and wrench his face away from the light, throwing an arm up to shield himself.

"Lancelot, it's me." Arthur reached out to grasp his shoulder.

"Arthur?" Lancelot croaked and squinted at him, but his eyes watered and he turned away again.

Arthur set the torch on the ground behind him to lessen the intensity of the light. "He's here!" he called up to the others. "Lancelot, are you hurt?"

Lancelot slowly shook his head.

"Okay, let's get you out of here."

Arthur gripped his arm and pulled him to his feet. Lancelot staggered against him heavily and could barely walk the short distance to the ladder.

"How long have you been down here?" Arthur asked, concern mixing with preemptive ire in his tone.

"I don't know," he said hoarsely. "They stuck me down here the day after I was captured and haven't been back since." He lolled his head to squint painfully at Arthur. "How long have I been gone?"

Arthur's stomach clenched. "Four days."

Four days in that hole with no food, water, or light. And half of one of those days his rescuers had been here, futilely searching the entire castle when he was literally under their noses.

"We're gonna need some rope!" Arthur shouted up to the others. There was no way Lancelot was fit enough to climb and not fall.

A few minutes later, a rope was tossed down. Arthur looped it into a harness around Lancelot and then gave it a tug and yelled for them to pull him up. He followed on the ladder directly beneath him to keep him steady. Once up top, Lancelot grunted and staggered away from the many torches.

"He's been down there for days," Arthur informed the others. "Move the light away."

Elyan and Percival quickly grabbed the torches and backed up as Merlin grasped Lancelot's shoulders and tried to physically block the light with his body.

"Easy, we got you," Merlin soothed.

Lancelot clung to Merlin's arms in turn.

Arthur moved around to take Lancelot's elbow. "Sit down here for a minute," he said.

Leon handed over a canteen of water, which Lancelot greedily gulped down.

"Not too fast," Merlin warned, taking it away. "Don't choke. Are you injured?"

Lancelot shook his head again. Merlin checked him over anyway but then concluded he didn't have any wounds. He was just weak and unsteady from being in that pit for days.

"We should get you back to Camelot but I'm worried about the sun," Merlin said.

"He could wear a blindfold," Gwaine suggested.

Lancelot stiffened and tried to recoil. "No," he begged. "Don't- don't put me in the dark again."

"Okay, okay," Merlin calmed him. "How about just a thin piece of fabric? Something that will let a little light through but hopefully not enough to cause severe pain. And help you slowly readjust."

Lancelot fidgeted indecisively, and Arthur couldn't blame him after seeing that hole, but he eventually nodded his consent.

"Okay." Merlin took off his neckerchief and gently tied it around Lancelot's eyes, leaving one side of the fabric to flutter loosely down his face. "How's that?"

Lancelot inhaled shakily and nodded.

"Alright, up we go then," Arthur coaxed.

He and Merlin each took an arm and pulled Lancelot to his feet, then paused so he could orient himself. Making their way out of the dungeon was slow going with Lancelot shuffling along, only able to really see the ground directly in front of his feet. But they were doing it. They had found their friend, battered as he was, and were bringing him home.

Chapter Text

No. 21 - Blood-matted hair

Percival's leg was cramping from sitting on the ground for so long, his arms tied behind his back and posture slightly bowed from the discomfort. But he couldn't stretch his legs out without jostling the head lying in his lap. Percival wished he could get his hands free to check Lancelot was still breathing. He was ghastly pale, one whole side of his head matted with blood. He'd been alive when the mercenaries had taken them captive, binding Lancelot like the others even though he had yet to regain consciousness after the vicious blow to the head he'd taken during the skirmish.

Percival bowed over, getting his ear as close to Lancelot's face as he could. A faint puff of breath buffeted his cheek, and he straightened, slightly relieved.

"How is he?" Leon asked, similarly trussed up by Lancelot's legs. Elyan sat behind him, back to back.

"Still alive," Percival answered quietly. He cast a narrowed look around at their captors. The fact that they had been taken alive meant there was as yet some unknown use these men had in mind for the prisoners. Ransom, maybe, or something else. These ruffians knew they had captured knights of Camelot.

But so far they were being ignored, which was just as well. Percival didn't want them messing with Lancelot in his condition.

A groan issued from the unconscious knight, and Percival bowed over him again, trying to keep his return to wakefulness from view.

"Lancelot?"

He received another moan in response, followed by Lancelot struggling to prize his eyelids open. He shifted his head a fraction, but that small movement made him go a shade whiter, followed by a jolt as his gag reflex activated.

Percival cursed under his breath, unable to reach forward and roll Lancelot over. Leon and Elyan shifted, desperately trying to grasp their friend with their hands bound behind them. Lancelot closed his eyes and settled without actually retching and subsequently choking on it.

"Lie still," Leon cautioned.

Lancelot didn't make another sound, but his breathing had become harsher, letting them know he was still somewhat conscious. Percival shared a worried look with Leon and Elyan.

A twig snapped somewhere in the surrounding woods. Everyone went still, eyes peeled against the green and brown foliage. And then Gwaine stepped into view, expression nonchalant as he shrugged at the mercenaries.

"So much for the element of surprise."

With that, he raised his sword and charged in like a raging maniac. Percival gaped in stupefaction, until a swarm of other knights in red followed, including Arthur. The discordant clang of steel pealed throughout the woods as the men clashed. Percival shifted in his bonds, anxious to get up and help fight. Leon and Elyan were equally fidgety, but there was nothing they could do at the moment. Lancelot's face scrunched up in pain at the raucous noise.

Then Merlin was darting through the melee and dropping down behind them to untie the ropes. Leon and Elyan immediately leaped to their feet to join the others, but Percival still had Lancelot half in his lap. With his hands now free, he carefully shifted his wounded friend to lie on the ground and crouched beside him in a defensive position. Even weaponless, he'd take on anyone who got too close. Merlin anxiously knelt next to Lancelot to look him over.

The mercenaries were defeated in short order and Percival could turn his full attention back to his friend, who was moaning as Merlin gently palpated his head. He went gray again and this time Percival was able to roll him onto his side as he finally threw up.

"Easy, easy," he tried to soothe, unable to do much of anything else.

"How is he?" Arthur asked, coming over.

Merlin kept prodding at the blood-matted hair. "His skull doesn't feel soft, but we need to get him to Gaius to be sure."

Arthur directed some of the other knights to bring the horses in.

Percival carefully slipped his arms beneath Lancelot and lifted him up, heart clenching as the movement elicited another pained moan. He tried to be gentle getting Lancelot up onto the horse, but there was no way to avoid jostling him, and he ended up throwing up over the side of the saddle again, but they finally got him settled against Percival's chest and started back toward Camelot.

The ride was unpleasant, and Lancelot lost unconsciousness again. Percival was equally worried and relieved over it. Once back in Camelot, Gaius performed a thorough examination and concluded there was no fracture in his skull, but he had a severe concussion and needed constant observation for a while. Percival took the first shift, sitting on a stool by the patient cot while Merlin gingerly washed the blood out of Lancelot's hair.

Lancelot woke several times throughout the knights taking turns sitting with him, and he was confused and disoriented each time, never remembering the times previous that he'd woken. But he wasn't getting worse and Gaius assured them that was a good thing.

It was Percival's turn again when Lancelot moaned and opened his eyes to slits. Percival straightened, ready to answer the same questions with the same answers. But Lancelot just squinted at him.

"Anyone else hurt?" he murmured.

"No."

Lancelot closed his eyes and hummed in relief.

"Do you remember what happened?" Percival asked tentatively.

"Elyan said I took a club to the head. Not that I remember that. Hurts like it, though."

"I'm sure it does."

Percival glanced at Gaius, who had paused at his worktable to listen.

The old physician gave him a nod. "I'd say he's on the mend now."

Percival smiled.

Chapter Text

No. 23 - YOU BREAK IT, YOU BUY IT (auction)

Lancelot shuffled along the tunnel, hands and feet shackled. Percival and Gwaine were ahead of him in a line of five men being herded into a large cavern with a crowd of people gathered in front of a platform. The prisoners were pushed up onto the wooden planks to stand in a row.

Gwaine was pulled forward first, his fettered feet struggling not to trip. He glowered at his captors.

"Strong one here, gents. Pretty too," the leader of this band of barbarians called out to the crowd. "Might need some breaking in." He pushed the end of a rod under Gwaine's chin to lift his head up.

Gwaine wrenched away and snarled, which earned him a punch in the lower back to bring him to heel. Then the bidding started.

Lancelot was sick to his stomach as he listened to these foul men call out how much they would pay for Gwaine. It was demeaning and dehumanizing, and they were helpless to stop it.

"Sold!" the auctioneer finally declared, and a wooden tag was looped over Gwaine's neck.

Percival was up next, and he bore the mortifying ordeal more stoically. The three knights had already tried to find opportunities for escape and been unsuccessful. Surrounded by vile men such as these was not a good place to try again.

"Sold!"

Percival's eyes hardened as he was claimed and led back into line.

Then it was Lancelot's turn. His face burned as he was presented to the crowd, his guards forcing him to turn in a circle so his prospectors could see every angle of him. When the bids started flying, he wanted to hide from the humiliation and spectacle. But there was nowhere to go.

He was sold to the same man who had bought Gwaine. The remaining two prisoners were auctioned off to other buyers. When it came time for them to be taken off the platform, Lancelot realized Percival was being led the opposite direction, and he began to resist following his lead.

A whip cracked the air, the tail catching Lancelot across the back of the arm. He doubled over and away from the burn with a sharp hiss.

"Don't start getting uppity now," one of the guards warned.

"Hey!" another voice shouted. "You'd better discount the price I'm paying if you damage my merchandise."

The guard rounded on the man who had bought them. "Fine," he said, stepping out of the way. "Then you get them loaded up."

The buyer beckoned to Lancelot and Gwaine. "Let's go."

"You've got to be joking," Gwaine scoffed. "Do you know who we are? Knights of Camelot."

"Then you should know how to obey orders. Now, get moving."

Both Gwaine and Lancelot drew their shoulders back in refusal.

The buyer's nostrils flared in vexation, and he spun toward the guard to snatch the whip out of his hand. Before Lancelot could react, Gwaine stepped into the blow, letting it land across his side so he could wrap his arms around the tail and then wrench it right out of the buyer's hands. Gwaine then launched himself at the man.

Lancelot pivoted toward the guard and lunged at him, but the shackles made it difficult for him to keep his balance in a fight. Gwaine had more or less simply used his body as a bludgeoning instrument to knock the buyer down and now they were wrestling in a tangle of limbs on the floor.

Lancelot managed to get around behind the guard and looped the length of his wrist chain around the guy's throat, then pulled back as hard as he could. Unfortunately, reinforcements arrived before Lancelot had succeeded in knocking him out, and a second whip came lashing across his shoulders. His back arched at the lightning that forked down his back, and then hands were grabbing him and pulling him off the guard.

Gwaine was hauled off the buyer and slammed into the rock wall, the air punching from his lungs with a ragged gasp. The buyer struggled to his feet, cheeks puce with rage. He grabbed the whip again and arched his arm back to snap it across Gwaine's face. Lancelot tensed.

But then Arthur and the other knights came charging in out of nowhere, and Lancelot could only blink dumbly as they dealt with the guards and man about to whip Gwaine. Lancelot pushed himself to his feet with a hiss, his shoulder on fire.

"Arthur," he said urgently. "Percival, he was taken by another buyer. That way."

Leon and Elyan immediately ran off to find their friend.

Merlin took a key off a guard and came over to unlock Lancelot's shackles first. He frowned and leaned around Lancelot when he spotted the bloodied tear in his sleeve, and then the back of his shirt.

"Here," he said, passing Arthur the key to free Gwaine while Merlin looked over Lancelot's wound.

"Is it deep?" he asked, tensing as Merlin pulled back the tear in the fabric.

"Not too deep," Merlin replied.

Lancelot tried to breathe at that. "Still hurts like it is."

"I'll tend it once we're away from here."

Lancelot nodded. "Gwaine got hit too."

Merlin snapped his gaze to the left and went over to check him next, but determined it also wasn't very deep. Their new "master" hadn't known how to properly wield a whip.

Other knights came into the passage to report to Arthur that they'd rounded up the rest of the men involved in this slave ring.

"Good," Arthur said.

Leon and Elyan returned shortly thereafter with Percival. Lancelot's shoulders slumped in relief. And he took satisfaction in that none of the barbarians buying and trading men's freedom had gotten away. They'd all suffer the weight of justice for their crimes.

Arthur left some of his other knights in charge as he and his inner circle escorted Lancelot, Gwaine, and Percival out.

"You know," Gwaine commented as they were leaving. "I'm insulted at how little I sold for."

Everyone shot him appalled looks.

"Clearly, he overpaid," Merlin put in, breaking the awkward silence. "You would have made a terrible servant."

"You would know," Arthur added.

Elyan smirked and Leon shook his head in amusement.

Lancelot rolled his eyes at his idiot friends.

Chapter Text

No. 24 - Self-induced injuries to escape

Percival gritted his teeth as the chain links wrapped around him pinched his arms, which were bound up and crossed over his chest. Chained to a wooden post staked in the ground in the middle of a pit, he couldn't move an inch. Lancelot and Elyan were with him, but not restrained. They'd been given blunt instruments—a wooden club and a dull sword—though they didn't know why. If their captors thought to have them beat on a bound Percival, they were in for a disappointment.

As it turned out, that wasn't the case. The gate to the pit opened and two guards led a fettered wilddeoran toward the opening. Once it was inside, they released the poles hooked to its collar and slammed the gate closed, letting it loose on the knights. It turned its nose up, sniffing intently, and its blind head immediately snapped toward its prey. Percival then realized he was the bait.

A crowd gathered around the pit yelled and jeered in anticipation as Lancelot and Elyan picked up the weapons and tried to beat back the animal. Their weapons weren't very effective, though; they weren't meant to win this, only to put on a good show before the wilddeoran ripped them apart.

"Go for the nose!" Percival yelled out, struggling futilely against the chains.

The wilddeoran was getting furious at the repeated attacks, squealing in rage. Lancelot swiped his dull sword at the creature's face, but it jerked away and came back up to snap its jaws around the blade and Lancelot's arm, biting down hard. Lancelot cried out as the wilddeoran tossed him through the air.

Elyan charged in to attack, but the beast slashed its claws at his leg. He recoiled sharply, his leg buckling and taking him down. He swung his club wildly to ward it off.

The wilddeoran snorted and turned back to Lancelot, deeming him easier prey as he struggled to sit up, blood streaming from his arm.

Percival couldn't just stand there and watch anymore as his friends battled the beast. He strained with all his might against his bonds, the chains pinching painfully, until he pulled so hard his shoulder popped out of its socket. He bellowed in pain, but now he had the ability to wiggle out of the chains.

The wilddeoran was on top of Lancelot now, tearing into him with its teeth as he screamed and tried to push it off. With a charging cry, Percival ran toward the beast and leaped onto its back. With his one good arm, he hooked it under the wilddeoran's throat and pulled back as tight as he could. The creature bucked and thrashed, trying to throw him off, but he held on with everything he had, squeezing tighter and tighter until with a deft twist, he managed to snap the beast's neck. The wilddeoran collapsed, and Percival rolled off, his bad arm tingling with numbness.

He pushed himself up and crawled the few feet to Lancelot as Elyan limped over to drop down beside him. Lancelot was torn up pretty bad, blood everywhere and his limbs twitching from the shock. The crowd was booing, and Percival knew they didn't stand a chance when the guards came. But then there was a different kind of yelling and people were turning to look behind them. The clang of steel followed. In another moment, Percival saw red cloaks as the knights of Camelot arrived, led by Arthur. He sagged in relief.

The gate creaked open as Merlin ran straight for the three of them in the pit, eyes wide as he took in their appearance. Gwaine was on his heels, sword raised at the ready to deal with the threat of the wilddeoran, but it was definitely dead.

"Gwaine, I need your cloak," Merlin said urgently.

Gwaine quickly yanked it off and passed it down. Merlin ripped off a strip and gave it to Elyan for his leg while he bunched the rest up around the myriad of Lancelot's wounds. Lancelot's chest hitched as pressure was applied.

"What's wrong with your arm?" Gwaine asked Percival, eyeing the limp appendage hanging awkwardly.

"I had to dislocate it to get out of the chains."

Gwaine's eyes darkened as he took in the rest of the setup of the pit.

"Here, take over," Merlin told Gwaine.

Gwaine knelt down and replaced his hands over Lancelot, pressing down hard.

Merlin scooted over to Percival and eyed his arm. "Gaius showed me how to do this, but this would actually be my first time…"

"It can wait," Percival replied. Those who were bleeding took priority.

"Not if you don't want to lose feeling in your arm permanently."

Percival grimaced at that thought, and thus nodded for Merlin to go ahead. Merlin put one hand on the back of his shoulder, which made him flinch at the pain, and the other on his bicep.

"On three. One, two…"

Merlin didn't wait for three before pulling and wrenching. Percival cried out, the popping back in just as painful as popping it out. But almost immediately the fiery tingling began to ease. His shoulder was still sore but definitely not as bad.

"Thanks," he said breathlessly.

Arthur and Leon arrived then, expressions worried as they took in the scene.

"I need supplies and bandages," Merlin said.

Leon nodded and jogged off to get that.

"Will he be all right?" Percival asked, looking at Lancelot.

Merlin's jaw looked tight but he nodded determinedly. He looked at Gwaine and Arthur. "You two should help Elyan and Percival out of this pit, then come back for Lancelot after the bleeding's slowed a bit more."

Percival didn't need assistance walking, so Arthur and Gwaine helped Elyan to his feet and braced him as he hobbled up the slope to the gate. Percival paused to look back and saw Merlin leaning over Lancelot, lips moving quietly. He thought he saw a flash of gold, but it must have been a trick of the light or exhaustion. Or maybe not, when later Lancelot's wounds weren't as dire as they'd seemed initially. He was still gravely injured, but Merlin assured them he wasn't in danger of dying before they made it back to Gaius. No one questioned it. And since Lancelot was going to be all right, Percival decided not to question it either.

Chapter Text

No. 25 - HIDE & SEEK (escape | flight | hiding)

Merlin stumbled through the woods, struggling to hold Lancelot up on one side with Gwaine on his other and Lancelot flagging with each step. He was ghastly white and wouldn't be able to keep going much longer.

But their pursuers weren't going to give up either. Merlin wracked his brain for what to do. He could stay behind and fight them with magic. But Gwaine would never agree to Merlin just randomly telling them to go on without him and the ensuing argument would just waste precious time.

So they kept staggering along.

Then Merlin spotted a crevice in a tree trunk that looked like it might be a place to hide.

"Over here," he said, veering them that direction.

Sure enough, the tree trunk had been hollowed out and there was enough space inside for the three of them to cram in. There was also ample dead foliage hanging around the opening to conceal them.

Sounds of pursuit grew louder and Merlin went ramrod still, listening intently. Gwaine didn't move either, hand gripping his sword as footsteps pounded by outside. Merlin held his breath.

The men paused as though looking around the area. Merlin saw some blood drops on leaves outside and used his instinctive magic to blow them away. After a few moments, the men moved on, and Merlin sagged in relief.

He took the momentary respite to turn and look Lancelot over. He was slumped against the dirt wall where they'd put him, eyes closed and pallor ashen. Merlin lifted his shirt to check the deep wound across his ribs. It had kept bleeding throughout their haggard flight. Merlin unwound the bandage to make sure it wasn't hemorrhaging, which it wasn't. Small favors. Not that he hadn't lost plenty of blood already.

Merlin affixed the bandage again, tightening it further. Lancelot moaned and tossed his head to the side.

"Shh," Merlin quickly whispered. "Stay quiet."

Gwaine inched closer to the entrance, still listening. "I think they've moved on," he said quietly.

"We should stay here for a bit just in case," Merlin replied. Besides that, Lancelot was at the end of his rope.

Gwaine nodded and scooted back into the hollow. "How is he?"

Merlin felt Lancelot's forehead and frowned. "Cold."

He wedged himself up close beside his friend to share body heat. Gwaine did the same on Lancelot's other side without prompting, the two of them hemming him in as protectively as possible.

They stayed like that for an hour or so, and Merlin was just thinking of venturing out when he heard noises of the men backtracking. He and Gwaine went tense and silent again.

"How could we have lost them?" someone grumbled outside. "One was injured. They couldn't have gotten far."

"They must be hiding."

Gwaine moved his hand to where his sword lay on the ground, looking ready to fight.

Merlin caught his eye and shook his head firmly. Better to wait them out instead of engaging.

But then the men outside went completely silent, and Merlin got a bad feeling. A sword suddenly stabbed into the hollow, and Gwaine shot his blade up to deflect it before Merlin could process the attack. Their hiding place blown, Gwaine charged out to fight, and Merlin scrambled after him, though he was unarmed and unable to do much. Gwaine was outnumbered, and Merlin was about to throw caution to the wind and use magic when Arthur and the knights suddenly rode in to the rescue.

Merlin had a moment of surprise before he grinned as the tables were turned on the mercenaries. And he no longer had to risk using magic because the knights quickly dispatched the ruffians on the spot.

"Cutting it a little close there," Gwaine said.

"You're welcome," Elyan rejoined.

Arthur glanced between Gwaine and Merlin. "Where's Lancelot?"

"Here," Merlin replied. "Leon, help me."

Leon was closest and came over to help Merlin pull Lancelot out of the hollow.

"He's lost a lot of blood and we need to get him to Gaius," Merlin said.

Arthur's expression turned serious and he helped Leon carry Lancelot over to get him on Percival's horse.

"And thanks," Merlin added, nodding to Arthur. "For the rescue and impeccable timing."

Chapter Text

No. 26 - Trap door

Leon shot scathing looks at the men that shoved him and Lancelot down the corridor and into the main hall of the old fortress. A grizzled man with a pockmarked face sat on a dilapidated throne.

"What's this, then?" he said. "Trespassers?"

"You're trespassing in Camelot," Leon declared.

"Caught 'em wandering too close," one of the henchmen answered his warlord.

"How unfortunate for you."

"Prince Arthur is aware of your raids in his lands," Leon went on. "He will discover your base eventually."

The warlord merely smirked. "Not from you."

He reached down to pull a creaky lever set next to the throne. There was the sound of gears, and then a trap door abruptly sprung open beneath the two knights. The sudden drop made Leon's stomach flip, and in the next moment, he was crashing into some water. His elbow and hip struck the bottom, so it wasn't that deep, but the shock of it still left him flailing to keep from drowning.

He found his feet, though, water streaming down his face and soaked hair as he stood up. The water was nearly chest high, so not life threatening. Lancelot shook himself off beside him, and they both turned their heads up to the hole in the floor as a grate was slid into place over it. The warlord leaned out to peer down at them.

"Supper time."

Leon furrowed his brow in confusion. What was that supposed to mean?

Something sloshed in the water several feet away. Leon and Lancelot exchanged a look before shifting their stance. It was too dark to see with the only light spilling down from directly above their heads, and the chamber seemed to stretch almost the length of the entire hall.

The water rippled again, like something was lurking beneath its surface. Both knights reached for their swords. But then Lancelot was suddenly yanked under with a tremendous splash.

"Lancelot!" Leon whipped his sword out, which the barbarians had failed to divest them of. The water was thrashing, but he couldn't see.

Then there was a plume of red like ink, and his heart lurched. He dove beneath the surface, frantically searching through the shallow depths, but his sight still couldn't penetrate the darkness. And he couldn't risk striking out blindly with his sword and hitting Lancelot.

He saw a dark shape flailing in the water. It looked like a tentacle. Leon swung his sword and chopped it off. Purple ichor exploded outward, mixing with red and turning the water puce. Another appendage lashed out and snapped around Leon's arm. Barbs tore through his mail into skin. Leon switched sword hands and hacked at the limb until it finally broke away. His lungs were burning and before he knew it, he was pushing himself up to the surface to gasp in a lungful of air. The water around him was still in turmoil, and Lancelot was still submerged, so Leon dove again, twisting and kicking through the murk and attacking every piece of the creature he came up against until it finally retreated in a flurry of bubbles.

Leon flailed his arm back and forth until he bumped into Lancelot's limp body, then pulled him close and pushed to his feet again. They broke the surface with another ragged gasp for oxygen, but they weren't safe yet. Leon dragged Lancelot across the chamber to the rock wall and hauled them both up onto a small cleft. Their feet barely dangled out of the water, which meant they were still within reach should those tentacles come back, but there was nowhere else to go. Leon held Lancelot tightly against his chest, and the other knight coughed weakly.

Out of the light from the trap door, Leon couldn't see very well, but Lancelot's leg looked shredded and blood was trickling down in wet rivulets to drip into the water. Leon's own arm was burning fiercely, but he adjusted his grip, trying desperately to keep Lancelot out of the water and his sword firmly in the other hand.

"Lancelot?" Leon called tentatively. He didn't get a response. Lancelot was clearly in shock. Leon didn't know how severely he was bleeding, but he had nothing with which to bind the wounds nor a place to lie him down in order to reach his leg. They were trapped and in very dire straits.

Leon watched the water warily, but the creature had skulked off somewhere. It probably wasn't used to its "supper" biting back. But it'd likely be back when it was hungry enough, and Leon didn't know if he'd be able to fight it off a second time.

Lancelot moaned and shifted in his grip.

"Don't move," Leon warned, leaning over Lancelot's shoulder to get a look at his face.

Lancelot's eyelids fluttered as he regained his senses. "This…is not a good day," he rasped.

Leon couldn't help it, he huffed. "I've had worse."

Lancelot's lips twitched. "So have I." His face scrunched up in pain and his whole body tensed. "Can't think of…an example…right now, though."

Leon's example was being on the brink of death and miraculously saved by magic. He didn't think they could count on a magical rescue here, though.

Shadows blocked out the light from the grate.

"I like it better when they scream," the warlord's voice filtered down.

Leon held his tongue. There was no reason to let their captors know they were still alive. The shadows moved away from the grate, but the trap door wasn't closed, which Leon was grateful for. The black water was ominous enough as he constantly roved his gaze over every small ripple, waiting for another attack.

He briefly looked away and back to Lancelot, giving him a slight jostle. "You still with me?"

"Mmm. Don't have…anywhere else…to be."

"Hang in there," Leon ordered, though he knew the chances of them making it out of this alive were slim to none. Still, it wasn't in the Knight's Code to give up.

The water burbled and sloshed, and Leon stiffened.

"Lancelot, it's coming back."

Lancelot tried to push himself upright, but it was difficult in the narrow space on the cleft. Leon was going to have to let go.

"Can you swim?" Leon asked tautly.

"I'll try."

And that was all either of them could do. Leon waited until the last possible moment when the water beneath them was churning. Then he released Lancelot and pushed himself off the rock. They both splashed into the water, and Leon couldn't let himself turn around to make sure Lancelot could keep his head above the surface because the tentacles were flying toward him.

He slashed his sword back and forth, hacking at everything that tried to get past him to his friend. One of the tentacles grabbed his sword arm again and tried to wrench it out of joint.

"Leon, catch!" Lancelot yelled, and Leon twisted just enough to grab Lancelot's sword that he tossed his way.

Armed with two blades, he continued to slash at the monster, flinging bits of blubbery appendages through the air and splashing ichor over the water. And then finally the water stopped thrashing and began to settle, and the attack stopped. Leon stood there, blades dripping with treacly purple. He hoped the thing was dead.

After several long moments, he began to poke the swords into the water until they met a squishy lump underneath. The creature was unmoving. Leon finally sheathed his sword and turned back to Lancelot, who was clinging to the rock wall to hold himself up. Leon waded over to help support him. That was one danger down, but they were still in a very dire position.

Leon turned his head up toward the grated hole in the ceiling, then around at the underground chamber. "Maybe there's a drain somewhere we can get out through."

Lancelot gave him a regretful look. "I don't think I can be of…much help."

Leon pressed his mouth into a tight line. He'd figured that, but even with the monster dead, he didn't feel right leaving Lancelot here while he searched the large cavern, even if it was in an effort to save them both.

A metallic clang rang out from above, increasing in intensity. Leon edged toward the area below the grate, but of course he couldn't see what was happening up there, and when the fighting died down, he was leery of making any noise. But then a familiar voice was demanding,

"Where are my knights?"

"Here!" Leon shouted. "We're down here!"

Percival's face appeared above the grate first, followed by Arthur and the other knights.

"Get this open!" Arthur ordered.

Leon finally sagged in relief as his friends worked to get the grate off and tossed a rope down to them. He went to get Lancelot and half carried him through the water to the rope, then tied it around him first. He was slowly pulled up, and then it was Leon's turn. At the top, Arthur grabbed his hand and hauled him out the rest of the way. Merlin was already by Lancelot's side, fussing over his mangled leg.

"Are you all right?" Arthur asked in concern, eyeing Leon's blood stained chainmail.

He nodded. "There was a creature down there. It had sharp tentacles. That's what did that to Lancelot's leg," he added for Merlin.

Percival and Gwaine took cautious steps toward the edge of the pit to look down.

"It's dead now," Leon told them. He then turned back to Arthur. "How did you find us so quickly?"

"Someone witnessed your capture and reported it."

Talk about a miraculous, non-magical rescue.

Lancelot choked on a pained sound as Merlin prodded at his leg. "We should get him back to Gaius, but I don't think cleaning these out should wait. There's gotta be supplies in here somewhere, right?"

"We'll find something," Gwaine said and headed off with Elyan to search the fortress.

Merlin stood up and came over to Leon. "Did it get you too?"

"My arm, but not as badly."

"Sit down then," Merlin instructed, falling into physician apprentice mode rather than humble manservant.

Leon moved over to Lancelot and sat on his other side. Percival found some water in the main hall and Merlin wasted no time getting started on a thorough cleaning of Lancelot's leg, which was clearly a very excruciating process. Leon wasn't looking forward to enduring the same for his arm. He looked around for the warlord and his men, but they'd been removed from the hall, save for those that had been slain in the confrontation with Arthur and his knights.

"What are you going to do with the prisoners?" Leon asked.

"You should throw them into that pit," Merlin muttered.

"Don't tempt me," Arthur replied, casting a glance at said hole. "They'll stand trial for raiding Camelot and attempting to kill two knights."

Leon knew that was the proper way to mete out justice. Still, if the monster down there had still been alive, he might have been tempted too.

Chapter Text

No. 28 - "Good, you're finally awake" | nightmares + No. 27 - Collapse

Merlin stood off to the side in the great hall as the court gathered in attendance for a peasant presenting his grievances to Arthur. The situation quickly grew uncomfortable as the man raged against the persecution of magic users.

"My family was executed for the crime of using magic when they weren't sorcerers at all!" he proclaimed, growing more and more distraught.

Arthur's expression was sober as he responded. "I regret some of the things that happened under my father's rule, but under mine, people will have a fair trial."

"It's too late," the man spat. "You can't undo the horrors we've suffered."

He reached into his pocket and withdrew something. Merlin tensed as the peasant suddenly threw it at Arthur. It wasn't a knife, but a vial. Even so, Lancelot jumped in front of Arthur, and the glass broke against his chainmail. Whatever was inside instantly vaporized and smoke wafted up into his face. His eyes rolled back and he collapsed where he stood.

The chamber erupted into chaos as the peasant screeched in rage and knights converged on him. Merlin and Gaius rushed to Lancelot.

"Get him to my chambers," Gaius said.

Percival and Gwaine lifted him off the floor and swiftly carried him through the castle to the physician's chambers where they laid him on the patient's cot. There was nothing visibly wrong with him, but not even Gaius's strongest smelling salts could rouse him.

Arthur's jaw was tight as he looked on, no doubt feeling guilty since he'd been the target.

"It's a knight's duty to protect his prince," Merlin said quietly.

Arthur didn't look mollified.

"I don't get it," Gwaine said. "What was the sorcerer even trying to do?"

Merlin was wondering the same thing. It was obviously a magical attack, but so far it didn't look that deadly.

Lancelot started to moan and twitch.

Gaius leaned down and shook his shoulder. "Lancelot, can you hear me?"

The knight didn't wake.

Leon came in then, expression taut with worry. "We've interrogated the sorcerer. He said the potion was meant to force Arthur to live through the same kinds of horrors that magic users have."

Arthur frowned. "How?"

Lancelot shifted again, a small noise of distress slipping past his lips. He looked as though he were dreaming.

Merlin had a very bad feeling about this.

Lancelot ran through the forest, feet pounding against the soil as he was chased by faceless figures in red cloaks. An all-encompassing feeling of terror gripped him, though he didn't know why. The Pendragon crest should have meant ally, and yet every time they got close, he was compelled to flee again.

But no matter how far he ran, until his legs burned and his chest heaved with exhausted breaths, their pursuit never wavered. They were around every corner. Lancelot stumbled into a barn and collapsed. He heard the pounding footsteps pass by and thought he might be safe. But just as he thought that, the figures were swarming him out of nowhere and seizing him. He was dragged to his feet, hands bound, and pushed outside.

"What do you want?" he asked and was ignored.

As he was hauled down a path, he spotted stakes along the side of the road up ahead with strange shapes on top. Then as they got closer, he realized they were heads on spikes. He nearly threw up as he recognized the faces frozen in agony—Merlin, his fellow knights, Gwen. All of them mouths suspended open in mid scream as they'd been decapitated, blood trickling out of their mouths.

Lancelot was dragged up onto a platform, but instead of the ax for his fate, there was a wooden stake surrounded by bunches of kindling. Lancelot struggled as he was tied to the stake, to no avail. His heart felt as though it would punch its way right out of his chest as the figures approached with torches. There was no escape as they set fire to him.

Merlin watched helplessly as Lancelot thrashed in the throes of some nightmare none of them could guess at. His face was flushed and his breaths were coming too short and shallow.

"Is there anything you can do?" Arthur asked.

Gaius reluctantly shook his head as he stood over Lancelot, one hand on the pulse point of his wrist. "The potion should wear off on its own…but I'm concerned he won't make it that long."

Merlin stiffened. "What do you mean?"

"His heart is racing. If it keeps up at this pace for too long, it could give out and stop."

Merlin shared a fearful look with Arthur and the others, and he wished he could suggest they all leave so he could try some of his magic to counteract the curse, but there was no way they'd just leave Lancelot like this.

Gwen went over and sat on the edge of the cot, taking Lancelot's hand. "I don't know if you can hear me, Lancelot, but I'm here. We're all here. Whatever you're seeing, it's not real. You just have to hold on. We're right here, waiting for you on the other side."

The hours passed agonizingly slowly as they all waited and Gwen continued to talk softly and soothingly to Lancelot as he endured the nightmares. Gaius kept closely monitoring his heart, and while there were a few moments where they feared it had stopped, Lancelot would then take another hitched breath. Then at long last, he went still, and everyone straightened, fearing the worst.

Gaius checked his pulse and laid a hand over his chest, then nodded. "His heart rate has returned to normal. I believe the curse has run its course."

A wave of relief swept through them all at that, though Lancelot remained unconscious.

"He went through a strenuous ordeal," Gaius said. "He'll need time to recover."

With that, everyone reluctantly left, save for Merlin and Gwen.

"Let me know when he does wake," Arthur said on his way out.

It was another couple of hours before Lancelot stirred with signs of life that didn't involve a painful nightmare. His eyes cracked open, pupils glossy. He looked utterly wrecked.

"You're finally awake," Gwen said with a smile. "Good."

Merlin crouched beside him. "It's okay. It's over."

Lancelot gazed at him blearily for a long moment, eyes watering. "It wasn't real?" he rasped.

Merlin shared a look with Gaius at that, because according to the sorcerer, it had been real for some. He turned back to Lancelot. "No, it wasn't real. You're safe."

He saw Lancelot squeeze Gwen's hand hard.

"You were dead," he said hoarsely. "You were all dead."

Gwen clasped his hand and stroked back some sweaty hair from his brow. "No one's dead," she assured him.

Lancelot let out a shaky breath as a tear slipped down his cheek. Gwen brushed it away.

Merlin would ask what he had endured later, when they were alone. For now, he was grateful the curse hadn't killed his friend.

And he wondered if magic would ever truly have a place in Camelot with such a long and dark history between them.

Chapter Text

No. 30 - DIGGING YOUR GRAVE (ghosts)

"This is not a shortcut," Merlin grumbled as he waded through thick foliage behind Arthur.

"I know where I'm going, Mer-lin."

"No, you don't."

"No one else seems to share your opinion."

Merlin huffed and shot a look at the other knights, who shrugged. Only Lancelot gave him a commiserative look. This part of the forest was dense with growth and Merlin knew they hadn't ever traversed this way before.

The tightly packed trees suddenly broke and their group stumbled into a clearing. Not just any clearing, though—a burial ground. It was even darker in this portion of the woods, the thick canopy of trees draped in opaque cobwebs that trailed down in large shrouds like the shedded skin of weeping willows. Gnarled branches stretched over stone markers, bony fingers clawing at the graves. Merlin didn't like the feel of the place at all.

"We should go back," he said nervously.

"I'm unaware of any battles in these parts," Leon commented, eyeing the area curiously.

"Neither am I," Arthur echoed.

"Maybe it's from before your lifetime," Elyan suggested.

Lancelot walked over to one of the graves. "A very long time ago," he remarked, brushing some dried leaves off a tombstone and revealing etchings in a language none of them knew. It wasn't even the Old Religion.

Arthur went over to look as well. "I wonder how ancient this is, if there's anything in the archives about it."

"Well, we can't learn anything about it here," Merlin insisted. "So let's just go."

"Don't be such a girl's petticoat, Merlin," Arthur replied.

Merlin shifted anxiously. The soil all around them was dark, almost black, as though tainted by something. He could feel it. He was about to repeat that they should leave when a creaking sound echoed from the left. They all whirled toward it, but nothing seemed to be moving. The knights exchanged embarrassed chuckles.

"Way to go, Merlin," Gwaine joked, "getting us to jump at shadows."

Merlin pressed his mouth into a thin line.

A tendril of cold slithered up his spine, followed by a shift in the air, and then specters were rising up from the graves, wispy white like fog but in the contours of hideous faces. The knights drew their swords, no longer laughing, but of course their blades simply passed through the amorphous figures that careened down on them.

"Retreat!" Arthur ordered, but a loud crack cut off his command as a giant tree fell across their path, blocking their escape back that way.

The other trees creaked and groaned, extending their branches toward each other and weaving into a cage, trapping them in the clearing.

The ghosts shrieked and descended on their heads again, forcing the knights to dive out of the way. Merlin and Lancelot scrambled off to one side, and Merlin covertly used his magic to light up a branch with fire. He passed it to Lancelot, who leaped to his feet and swiped the flaming torch at the phantoms. They veered away but came back around for another go.

The other knights snatched up branches and Lancelot used his to light them. But even armed with fire and light, they were still trapped.

Merlin turned his attention to the trees, trying to see if he could make a way through them. With everyone engaged in battle, they wouldn't notice him using magic.

Elyan let out a yelp as tree branches grabbed his arms and torso, pulling him backward and weaving him into their roots. Percival and Arthur ran over to cut him free.

Lancelot was being driven backward by the diving specters until he hit the edge of an open grave that hadn't been there before and fell backward into it. The earth shifted and lifted up, dumping a mound of soil over it.

"Lancelot!" Merlin screamed.

Elyan got free, and Gwaine and Leon were fighting their way to Lancelot as the ghosts battered them. Merlin could feel their evil intent, the earth beneath him tainted by whatever black magic had soaked into this place. The very ground yearned for more blood.

A skeletal hand shot up from the soil and grabbed Gwaine's ankle, tripping him. He flipped over and tried to hack it off, but his sword merely seemed to glance off the bone, and the corpse started dragging him down into the dirt. Arthur started toward him, but a branch went swinging through the air and clubbed him. He hit the ground face first, out for the count.

Merlin skidded to his knees where Lancelot was buried and began to dig frantically. But the ghosts pelted him one after the other, the gusts of their wake knocking him aside. Desperate, he shot upright and thrust a hand up toward the specters, unleashing his magic in an explosive surge. With a scream, they all burst into mist and instantly dissipated. The noises stopped and the forest seemed to settle. For the moment. There was still a burbling, sinister presence beneath the surface, but it had been momentarily stunned quiet.

Merlin couldn't think of the consequences of what he'd just done as he turned back to the grave and plunged his arms into the soil, urgently shoving it aside as fast as he could. Leon and Percival joined him, all three digging frantically until a bit of Lancelot's chainmail was exposed. They all reached down and snagged the material, pulling hard to lift him up. Lancelot sucked in a ragged gasp of air, then broke into a haggard fit of coughing and choking, spraying dirt from his lips. Both Merlin and Percival braced him as he fought to breathe.

"Easy, easy," Percival coaxed.

Merlin yanked off his neckerchief and wiped the dirt away from Lancelot's eyes, nose, and mouth. "We got you."

Lancelot nodded, sagging limply in their arms, his chest still heaving laboriously.

As they waited for him to recover, Merlin shot a look of trepidation at his friends. "I can explain…"

"There's no need, Merlin," Leon cut him off.

"Yeah," Percival said. "We already knew you had magic."

Merlin's jaw went slack. "What?" he said dumbly.

"You're not that good at hiding it," Gwaine commented as he limped over, his ankle bleeding from several gouges.

Leon straightened to look toward where Elyan was crouched over Arthur. "Is he…?"

"He's fine!" Elyan shouted back. "Just out."

Leon breathed a sigh of relief. "Then we don't have to explain this incident to him."

Merlin continued to gape in stupefaction. "Uh, Arthur will want to know what happened."

"Just tell him what you normally do," Leon said with a shrug.

"He is a bit dense," Elyan added.

Merlin blinked, utterly flabbergasted. This was not at all how he'd expected this to go.

"What on earth are you talking about?" Lancelot asked weakly.

Percival quirked a dubious look at him. "You didn't know Merlin had magic?"

Lancelot flicked a worried glance at Merlin.

He shrugged. "Apparently I wasn't as good at hiding it as I thought."

"Mm, that's true," Lancelot hummed. "I did catch you using magic when we first met."

The other knights made a few indignant exclamations at that.

"That was years ago!" Leon said.

Merlin smirked. "Maybe I was good at hiding something after all."

Gwaine snorted. "Lancelot was the one who hid it."

Merlin conceded the point with a nod, then turned to his long-time friend. "Are you all right?"

Lancelot gave a shaky nod. "I just need a minute."

Arthur made a sound as he started to come around, so Leon went over to check on him.

"What happened?" Arthur mumbled. "Where did the ghosts go?"

"We eventually beat them with the fire," Merlin answered, ignoring the knowing smirks the other knights shared among themselves.

"Oh…"

"Now can we leave this place?" he added petulantly.

Arthur scowled, then winced as it apparently hurt his head. "Yes."

Everyone else eagerly agreed.

Chapter Text

No. 31 - HURT & COMFORT (trauma)

Elyan sat in his chambers in the dark, staring at the meager light of the fire in the fireplace. The spirit of the druid boy that had possessed him may have been gone, but the child's emotions lingered, like an echo that Elyan could still feel resonating in his blood. He shivered at the memory of that other presence. As cold and dreadful and full of rage as it had been, it had also been the tortured soul of a frightened little boy. And then there had been Elyan, overcome and buried underneath that force, helpless as his body was used to exact vengeance on Arthur.

He stared at the dying fire for a while longer, wrestling with his own emotions over what he'd been through and the prickle of realization that came of it.

It was late, but he couldn't sleep. He finally rose from his chair and slipped out into the darkened corridor. He'd asked for space and his sister and friends had given it to him. He made his way down the passage, shadows nipping at his heels. He paused when he arrived at the door he'd set out for. It was late, and he shouldn't disturb the occupant, but something whispered Elyan would be a coward if he didn't. And so he raised a hand to knock.

For several long moments, there was no answer. Then came the sound of the door knob turning and the wood creaked open. Lancelot peered out through the gap, his hair askew and dark circles under his eyes.

"Elyan," he said in surprise. "Are you all right?"

Elyan swallowed thickly and gave a minute nod. "May I come in?"

Lancelot ducked his gaze and stepped back. Elyan slipped inside, and Lancelot shut the door, his posture bowed as though he expected a verbal flagellation. Having miraculously come back after everyone thought he'd died in the Veil, only to discover he had died, and had been brought back as a shade to sabotage Arthur and Gwen's wedding, things had been tense among the knights of the Round Table. Lancelot had somehow been freed from Morgana's control, but not before some things couldn't be unseen. It had taken everything in Arthur's power not to banish one or both of them. The castle was full of shattered hearts.

Lancelot shifted uneasily. "Merlin told me what happened with the spirit of the druid boy. How are you?"

"Still trying to work through it," Elyan replied honestly. "I now know what you went through, though."

Lancelot's brow furrowed.

"Being taken over by someone else's will," Elyan explained. "Made to hurt people you love."

Lancelot looked away.

"I understood logically you weren't to blame," Elyan went on with a touch of shame. "But I didn't really understand. Not until now." He looked around the room at the rumpled blankets on the bed and the untouched food on the table. "I imagine you're struggling with it as much as I am."

Lancelot winced. "Do you…" he began hesitantly. "Feel hollow?"

Elyan frowned as he considered the question. "I feel…out of sorts. I was pushed aside and I don't quite feel like I've refilled the space inside my head yet."

Lancelot nodded thoughtfully. "I don't know if there's enough of me left to fill the void that thing left behind," he murmured.

Elyan's frown deepened. "Do you feel…echoes of the shade?"

"No…" Lancelot turned his gaze back to Elyan. "Do you?"

"A little, yeah. I can still feel some of the boy's emotions like they're my own. His anger, his fear. His grief."

"I felt nothing. I still feel nothing."

Elyan went silent for a moment. "If that were true, I don't think you'd be locking yourself away from everyone."

Lancelot ran a hand through his messy hair and squeezed his eyes shut.

"I get it," Elyan went on. "I don't feel like I can face anyone right now either. But hiding away isn't going to do either of us any favors. So, maybe we can help each other."

Lancelot looked over again, eyes swimming with anguish and drowning desperation, and Elyan regretted that they'd left him alone for an entire week after he'd suffered such a terrible ordeal. Once Elyan felt more centered himself again, he was going to broach that topic with the other knights.

Lancelot finally nodded and moved to take a seat at the table. Elyan followed. He eyed the plate of food between them.

"When's the last time you ate?" he asked softly.

Lancelot shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't been hungry."

Elyan reached out and picked up a bread roll, then tore it in half. He handed one piece to Lancelot and took a bite of the other, then gave his friend a pointed look when he didn't do the same. Lancelot grudgingly forced a mouthful down.

"I haven't tried to sleep yet," Elyan admitted. "Before the spirit fully took me over, I was seeing him. It was…terrifying."

Lancelot didn't say anything for a long moment. "You can stay here tonight, if you want."

Elyan nodded. "Thanks. What about you?" Somehow it was easier to address these things when he had someone else's well-being to think about in the same way.

"I've slept," Lancelot replied vaguely.

"Not well," Elyan pressed.

Lancelot's throat bobbed, and he set the rest of the roll aside. "I dream about being…" He choked off and swallowed hard again. "That thing."

"That's what I'm worried about too," Elyan said.

Lancelot rocked back in his chair. "What if Morgana can take my soul again? What if I wake up and walk out of here and kill Arthur? Or Gwen? I shouldn't even be here." He surged to his feet and started to pace in agitation.

"Lancelot, Gaius doesn't think that will happen."

"He doesn't know for certain!" Lancelot whirled on Elyan. "I would rather die than be used like that again. Except if I'm dead, Morgana could resurrect me again. There's nowhere safe, except maybe the dungeon. That's where I should be."

Elyan stared at him. He could relate to a lot of what Lancelot had gone through, but not all of it. He didn't have to fear the druid boy coming back to repossess him now that his spirit had been laid to rest.

"You said so yourself, she resurrected you from the dead. You're not dead now, so she can't control you like that again."

Lancelot paced a few more times before sinking back into his chair and slumping forward in exhaustion, head in his hands. "It hurts, Elyan," he said brokenly. "Like a wound in my soul I can't reach." He lifted a watery gaze to him. "How is that supposed to heal?"

"I don't know," Elyan replied, heart aching for his friend. "But I just lived through a boy tormented and twisted by horror and vengeance releasing his rage and embracing peace. So I have to believe it's possible."

Lancelot closed his eyes and sagged, a tear escaping down his cheek.

"And you won't be alone."

Lancelot was quiet for a few moments, collecting himself. Then he opened his eyes and met Elyan's gaze. "You shouldn't have to be worried about me, not after going through something just as horrific."

"That's why I'm worried about you. And that's why I need you. The others care but they don't understand. You do. I need you as much as you need me. We'll help each other."

Lancelot considered Elyan for a long moment, then nodded with a glimmer of resolve. "We'll help each other," he affirmed.

Elyan nodded back. Together, they'd get through this.