Chapter Text
Lancelot woke up on the hard dirt floor of some hut. He bit back a groan and looked around to try and judge his surroundings. His arms were tied behind his back and he felt weak.
He vaguely remembered riding through the woods on patrol when some smoke had come out of nowhere, choking him, and the last thing he could recall was falling off his horse.
Apparently, it had been a deliberate attack.
Footsteps sounded nearby and a figure came into view, a middle-aged man with long, dark hair. He bent to peer at Lancelot.
"Ah, so you're awake. I hope you won't be any trouble for me."
Lancelot grunted, tugging weakly as his bonds. "Won't make any promises," he slurred.
The man snorted and straightened up again, heading over to a table where a large tome and several bowls and bottles of ingredients and herbs sat. He muttered to himself while he measured things out, and Lancelot started to get a bad feeling about this. This man didn't seem like a healer, so it stood to figure that he was some kind of sorcerer. In which case, Lancelot had no idea what his purpose here was, but he was pretty sure he didn't want to find out.
It wasn't long before he was given an answer though, because the man finished measuring what he had on the table and then grabbed an empty bowl and a knife, turning to advance on Lancelot.
The knight tried to sit up, move even a little, but whatever had knocked him out was obviously still affecting him because his body felt incredibly heavy and his head swam when he tried to sit up even partially.
"I just need one more ingredient for my spell," the man commented. "It was lucky you came along when you did. The recipe calls for blood of a brave soul, and who could be braver than one of the famous knights of Camelot?"
Lancelot felt trepidation come over him. as the man crouched, grabbing his shoulder and turning him over, grabbing him by his bound arms and stretching them out. The man grunted.
"It will be a bit difficult to do in this position, but I really don't want to risk you running away."
Lancelot struggled, making it only harder for the man who slammed his head into the floor, making the knight see stars. Lancelot gasped, dazed for only a second, but it was long enough for the man to get his arms positioned over the bowl and raise his knife.
"Don't!" Lancelot started before he felt the bite of the blade across his wrists. His cry of pain preceded an instant feeling of weakness as his blood drained from his body at an alarming rate. He could hear it trickling into the bowl as he still tried to struggle weakly.
"Yes…perfect," the man said after a long while, standing up with the full bowl, but not bothering to try and stop the bleeding as he released Lancelot and the knight collapsed limply to the floor, his blood continuing to trickle out onto the dirt beneath him.
"P-please," he managed to get out, eyelids heavy. "Help…"
The man ignored him and continued with his spell. Lancelot moaned, trying to press his wrists to his back to apply pressure but he couldn't get the right angle and he only resulted in soaking the back of his tunic with blood.
He felt his heart pounding laboriously in his chest, and knew he would pass out soon and…then what? If he kept bleeding, he doubted he would wake up again.
As Lancelot contemplated this dark inevitability, there was a sudden flurry of sounds coming from outside the cabin and as he craned his head weakly to look, the door was slammed open, Gwaine and Percival barreling through.
"That's him!"
The sorcerer cried out in terror, tried to throw something at the knights, but ultimately failed as they took him down.
"Lancelot!"
Merlin appeared in Lancelot's blurry vision, worriedly looking him over. "There's blood—where are you hurt?"
"Mm, wrists…" Lancelot managed to slur, raising his wrists for Merlin to see.
Merlin's expression blanched and he hurriedly went to work, ripping up the tail of his shirt and pressing the cloth to the wounds. Lancelot cried out from the pain, but was glad to see his friends.
"Help me cut him loose!" Merlin was shouting.
Someone else ran a knife through the ropes around his wrists and ankles, lying him out on his back as Merlin tied the cloths around his wrists to put as much pressure as possible onto the cuts, pressing them up against his chest.
"We need to get him someplace warm and comfortable," Merlin instructed.
Lancelot wasn't really listening much anymore though. Now that he knew he was safe with his friends, his body was deciding it was a good time to give out. Everything faded into the background and he slid away…
XXX
He woke to the comfortable atmosphere of Gaius' chambers, on the cot that was a little too familiar too him.
He shifted, a small groan escaping his throat as he pulled his arms from under the blankets and saw bandages wrapped up to his forearms on both of them. They twinged with sharp pain and he winced, figuring it was going to be a little while before he was back to training in the lists.
The door to Gaius' chambers opened and Merlin came in, smiling when he saw Lancelot's eyes open. The knight smiled back.
"You're awake," Merlin said with relief. "Well…you did wake up last night when we got you back and gave you some medicine and everything, but you might not remember that."
Lancelot shook his head wearily. "No. Last thing I remember was the cabin."
Merlin nodded grimly. "Yeah. I guess that sorcerer was trying to make a spell to attack Arthur with. But, luckily, we got to him—and you—in time. Funny thing is, if he hadn't thought to capture you to use your blood, we might not have figured out his plan until it was too late."
Lancelot's mouth turned up again. "Well, I always try to be of service to my Prince."
Merlin grinned. "You know Arthur appreciates it. But you won't be much good until you get back to strength, so how about some breakfast?"
"That sounds amazing," Lancelot told him, relaxing back against the cot, once again grateful for all the blessings he had in Camelot, his friends at the top of that list.