He woke when his boat hit sand and stopped moving. He slowly opened his eyes, blinking in the noon sun. As he sat up, he took in his surroundings. He appeared to have been lying in a bed of grass and flowers. It was like a boat you would send off a loved one in when they died. But he wasn't dead, was he?

He had remembered stepping into the black void to sacrifice himself for Arthur, but that wouldn't explain the boat. He searched his memory some more.

Then, like a dark secret, he recalled the next part. Morgana had brought a shade of his former self back to steal Gwen from Arthur. He had struggled but he couldn't fight her overbearing powers. It had been Merlin, at last, but still too late, that had set him free. Just before he died once more, he felt Morgana's influence being lifted and regaining control of his body just before he died. Thus the boat. He remembered Merlin laying him in a boat and pushing him out into the lake.

It still didn't explain why he was alive again. He felt no presence in his mind. Deciding the only way to find out was to explore, he climbed out of the boat. Well, he tried to, but his legs, weak from disuse, gave out beneath him and he fell into the cold water. Crawling feebly onto the land, he rested against the closet tree.

Regaining his breath, he used the tree to haul himself to his feet. Shakily, he walked back to the boat and grabbed his sword to use as a temporary staff. As long as it was in its sheath it should provide good support without damaging the weapon. Unsteadily, he began walking away from the water, hopefully toward a friendly village.

"Oh my God, are you alright?" An older woman set down her basket and hurried over to him. She took his free arm and out it over her shoulder to help support him.

"I'm alright," he replied. "Just weak and a bit confused. What village is this?"

"Oh, hon," she crooned. "Come back with me and I will get you taken care of." Together they slowly made their way back to her house. It wasn't too long before they reached her quaint little house. It was a white house with a light blue front door that they walked through before she sat him down at the kitchen table.

"I started tea before I went out so it should be ready for you shortly. Now, you just sit here and I'll get you anything you need."

"Thank you my lady."

"Oh please, just call me Heather."

"Thank you, Heather. I am Lancelot."

"Named after Arthur's knight, were you?" Lancelot was confused, but he decided that sometime had passed since he last died so he simply agreed with her version. And from looking around the house while she fussed in the kitchen, he guessed that it had been a very long time indeed. There were incredibly lifelike drawings in frames above the fireplace and everywhere there were tiny lights. There were also many strange containers that hummed and Lancelot started to wonder if she was a sorceress.

"Here you go." She set down the tea in front of him in a coffee mug that read 'Gone Fishing' in green letters. He took a tentative sip and smiled as the warm drink slid down his throat. "That should help you get some strength in those bones of yours. Now when you are good and ready, why don't you tell me how you got here."

Lancelot knew that saying he seemed to have been raised from the dead would not end up well. So he settled for saying that he woke up in a small boat and couldn't remember how he got there.

"Maybe you were in a ship wreck and you hit your head." She looked him over. "I don't see any bumps on your head, but maybe it hasn't shown up just yet. You do look like you could be a sailor though." Looking down at his ruffled white shirt and knee length trousers, Lancelot almost agreed with her deduction.

"That is a good explanation." Though in reality, Lancelot knew he had no sea legs and was much better at riding horses.

"In the morning I will call in a missing persons report," Heather was saying. "Can you remember anything else that might help? Any names?"

"Perhaps, though I am not sure how much would help?" He paused to get a false story straight that could both help him and sound believable to her. "I seem to recall a man with short dark hair who was about my height. The name that comes to mind is Merlin." Heather looked skeptical at this. "It may have been a nickname but that is all I can remember."

"Well, there have been police reports filed on much less. But until someone you know finds you, I will take care of you. But first, you look like you need some food and some rest."