So here we are again, another one-shot. Written because there aren't enough Lancelot fics out there. Or fics centered around the knights in general...of course that is just opinion.
Many thanks to DandelionViolet and Naisa for the input on this and to DarkSpikerr for proof reading even though she has not seen Merlin.
Bandits and Bandages
Consciousness slowly returned to Lancelot, bringing with it the smell of cool earth. Leaves brushed his face. Groggily he wondered why he put his bedroll in a bush. Opening his eyes he realized he was face down in the dirt, bedroll nowhere to be seen. He was beginning to wonder if this wasn't some practical joke. He started to roll over, only to stop as pain ripped through him.
Not a practical joke then. He thought grimly, sagging back onto the ground. While the knights may prank one another, none of them would go so far as to cause harm to one of their brethren. So what happened? He cast his thoughts back to previous events.
A group of twenty knights, Prince Arthur, and Merlin, of course, headed out to track a reportedly large group of bandits terrorizing the roads of eastern Camelot. Traveling until dark, they set up camp, keeping no fewer than three knights on guard, though thankfully it turned out to be an unnecessary precaution. The next morning, however, brought more results as they found those they sought. Lancelot remembered coming upon a large group of bandits, more than they were expecting honestly. As knights of Camelot, they refused to be intimidated and had surrounded the group, heading in swiftly to eliminate them. Of course, things didn't work out that way as a second group of bandits came running, attracted by the sounds of battle.
For a while it was a challenge and the knights had ended up being separated. Still, it was not long before they managed to take out enough of the bandits that the others fled, knights in hot pursuit. Lancelot himself had pursued a group of three and soon cornered them on the edge of a bluff. The drop was enough to cause the bandits to turn and face him. The first two had actually gone down rather easy.
The third on the other hand, used very different tactics while fighting, actually showing some skill with a blade. It wasn't enough, so in the middle of the battle he twisted and grabbed Lancelot before dragging them both over the edge of the bluff. Lancelot remembered the sensation of falling...then nothing.
At least it was a survivable fall, Lancelot thought bleakly before the realization hit that if he survived, so might have the bandit.
Carefully he started to roll onto his right side, the pain screaming at him from the entire left side of his body warning him not to roll that way. Jaw clenched tight to stifle the groans of pain, Lancelot finally got a good look at where he lay. Thick brush surrounded him for the most part, but he could see the bluff edge above him. It was taller than he originally thought, but he still couldn't see what the fate of the bandit was yet.
Attempting to lever himself into a sitting position, Lancelot became aware of several things: the forest was devoid of all sounds of battle, his left arm was useless, and the sun was standing high in the sky, telling him it was already mid-day. If the other knights hadn't missed him by now it was bound to be a long, painful day. The higher he lifted his upper body off the ground, the more his head throbbed, vision swimming threateningly at times. Lancelot just hoped he could find the strength to get up and move before someone, or something, came looking for him. If any bandits survived the raid and found him there, he knew he would not. Woodland predators would be just as dangerous in his condition.
Finally mostly upright, Lancelot took stock of his injuries and grimaced. Throbbing from his hip told him it was, at the least, badly bruised if not worse, yet the lack of stabbing pain assured him walking on it was in all likelihood, possible. Rips in his trousers stained with blood told him as much as they could about his injuries, but the white hot pain from his shoulder and the deep ache in his ribs kept him from leaning down to inspect the damage. No blood was obvious on his torso, the chainmail having prevented any piercing injuries, although he felt the stiff soreness of bruises starting to form. His arms sported several scrapes and cuts, but nothing that looked severe. When he looked at his shoulder he swallowed hard.
Obviously broken, Lancelot thought grimly, staring at the misshapen lump that was obviously already swelling. I hope Gaius can fix it. Or Merlin. He might not say it out loud, but it was a relief knowing his best friend had magic right now. It gave him hope. I need to bind it, keep it still so I can move. Lancelot started looking for something, anything to support his arm and to keep his shoulder from being too painful and distracting, while he moved. When in bandit infested territory one needed to keep their wits about them to survive. Ultimately the only feasible solution within reach was to use his belt.
Making the belt work to support and brace his arm was no easy task and took far longer than he cared to admit. Carefully he slid himself over to the closest tree, flattening small sections of bush and grasses as he went. When he got there he used it to slowly get himself standing. Quickly Lancelot realized walking would not be as easy as he though. While his legs worked well enough for the purpose, every move sent ripples of pain through his body, starting with his shoulder and head and radiating outward. Yet, now that he was standing he could see the fate of the bandit.
Grim satisfaction filled him when he saw his blade protruding from the still form. He would not be a threat any longer, though Lancelot could not remember actually stabbing the man. Slowly, with many hisses and grunts of pain, he made it to the body and retrieved his sword. No time to clean it, he simply turned and followed the bluff in a vaguely south western direction. If he did not find the knights soon he would make his way west, towards Camelot and hope either they caught up with him or he could manage to find someone willing to aid him.
Though his progress was slow, Lancelot eventually made it to a point where the land he walked rose to meet the bluff above. Pausing he leaned against a tree to try to gather what strength and endurance he had left even though he knew it wasn't much. Each step seemed to be harder, slower, more painful than the last. He rested there longer than he should have, but sooner than his body wanted, and started up the shallow incline. The sheer effort it took to reach the top worried him, his breath coming in short, gasping pants, each sending a flare of pain through his chest. It seemed his ribs might be more than just bruised, though he hoped not.
Lancelot rested for as many heartbeats as he dared before moving off again. For a moment he hesitated, then turned and headed in a northwesterly direction. If he remembered correctly, he pursued the bandits on a northeastern slant, and it would be wise to cross his previous path for if the knights were searching already they would be looking for traces of that path.
Determination kept him putting one foot in front of the other, training kept his eyes darting through the forest, willpower kept his teeth clenched to stifle the groans of pain when he stepped too hard, and hope fed into it all. Even with his eyes on the lookout, it almost took his brain too long to register the evidence of his own battle, to realize he needed to change course. Stopping for a few breaths to get his bearings, Lancelot turned, heading vaguely in the direction of the bandit camp, yet angling more west, just in case, to save some walking if it came to that.
Suddenly adrenaline coursed through his veins as he heard it – footsteps. As quickly as he could manage he got behind a large tree, wishing he could drop to the ground behind the bushes. Yet even as he wished that, he knew, should he go down for any reason, he would likely not be able to stand again for some time. That would leave him far more vulnerable than hiding behind a tree would. Whoever it was came closer and Lancelot tried to contain the hope they were friends. Carefully he leaned around the tree, as far as he dared.
Lancelot bit back a curse. Bandits. This isn't good. He shifted to once again hide himself more fully. By his count there were four. Any other time, they wouldn't have stood a chance, any other injuries he would have defeated them. But as he was now? No, he knew he stood no chance against them in his condition. This time he had to stay still and hope they were as dumb as they looked, dumb enough to pass him by.
Calming his mind, he focused on quieting his breathing and tracking the sounds around him. They seemed to be trying to track his previous path if their frequent stops and grunts were any indication. Several tense moments later the sounds began to fade, and Lancelot carefully leaned out from behind the tree, double checking the area. Now was not the time to lose caution in haste. Once he determined the area to be clear he started to move again, more careful to place his feet as quietly as he could manage.
Some time later he spotted the now abandoned camp through the trees. Lancelot saw little evidence to tell him whether the knights returned or not. Taking the approach of caution he started to circle the camp, wary of his surroundings despite the absence of human presence. For a moment he paused, leaning once again on the nearest tree, attempting to figure out which direction the roads to Camelot were in.
Suddenly there were shouts of alarm and footsteps approaching from several directions at once, or so it seemed. Lancelot closed his eyes briefly, breathing as deeply as possible, raising his sword in front of him. While throwing himself out into battle couldn't happen, if he caught one unawares he might stand a chance. Lancelot shifted to be as out of sight of the camp's clearing as possible. He wouldn't last for long, but as a knight of Camelot, going down without a fight would not happen. Holding his breath he listened, trying to detect which side the bandits might be approaching from. A rustle to his right.
Of course, it had to be the side where I can't get the force behind the swing to take him out in one blow, bitterness filled that thought even as he shifted to try to counter the approaching threat.
A slight crunch of small plants beneath a boot. Closer.
Leaves whispering as the air moved. Closer.
The creak of a gloved hand tightening on a weapon. Almost there.
Now! Lancelot swung as he heard the sound of breathing, a low slash, curving upward at the end, meant to take an opponent under their defenses.
Except instead of flesh his blade connected with another blade. Stepping away from the tree Lancelot whipped his sword around, a slashing attack to the throat. Steel met steel, again.
"Lancelot?!" the voice snapped through his thoughts, sharp, familiar.
Lancelot blinked, focused, a long heartbeat passed before his fuzzy mind produced a name. "Gwaine?"
Abruptly he was leaning against the tree, relief burning away the adrenaline, leaving him feeling drained. He felt as though someone had stuck his head into a sack of wool as Sir Gwaine draped his uninjured arm over his shoulders and started pulling him gently through the woods. Lancelot only realized how unfocused he was when he finally noticed his sword no longer in his grip, but in Sir Gwaine's instead; the latter's own sword long since having been replaced in it's sheath.
He couldn't think, even as a bandit came crashing through the underbrush directly in front of them. A soft, gray fog was descending around him as he watched the bandit crumple, no longer a threat, Sir Leon's sword making certain of that.
Sir Leon didn't speak, but Lancelot watched relief fade into something like a mix of concern and horror. He must look pretty bad for Leon to be that openly worried. The tall knight hovered by Lancelot's left side as they continued walking, thankfully knowing better than to touch the injured knight.
"What happened?" Sir Leon asked softly.
"Bandit." Lancelot managed to say, glad to know his voice still worked, head lolling towards his chest. "Pulled me over the bluff edge."
Gwaine muttered something too quietly for Lancelot to hear, but he figured it was along the lines of 'stupid bandits'. New voices filtered through the forest and he recognized that they belonged to Prince Arthur, Sir Elyan, and Sir Percival. He lifted his head as they got closer to the voices and saw the small band of horses on the path that lead to the bandit camp.
"Over here!" Gwaine called to them.
Soon Lancelot found himself the center of attention, each knight carefully scrutinizing him, concern, shock, and anger in their faces even as they tried to hide it. He must definitely look worse than he thought.
"We must get him back to camp." Prince Arthur announced. "Can you ride?"
The question made Lancelot pause as he actually considered that. Could he ride? The pain in his hip could be managed, but with his shoulder so out of sorts he wouldn't be able to mount on his own. Once in the saddle he could probably keep himself upright, he hoped.
"I should be able to stay on." Lancelot responded softly, trying to take some of his own weight back onto his own two feet. Gwaine simply gave him a disbelieving look as he discovered his legs no longer wanted to support him. Arthur didn't look convinced either, but he moved towards the horses, giving the unspoken order to prepare to ride out.
"Or you might not." Gwaine countered, "but we will get you back to camp so Merlin can patch you up enough for the ride back to Camelot."
"Where is Merlin?" Lancelot asked, realizing for the first time he hadn't seen his friend yet, and he knew Merlin didn't leave Arthur alone if he could help it.
"We made him stay at camp." The answer was far too quiet for 'normal' Gwaine, the man pulling him towards the horses. His legs were really being very uncooperative now as he stumbled more than walked. Gwaine led him to his horse and Sir Elyan, already mounted, was working to get his horse close enough he could undoubtedly help Lancelot mount.
"Is he injured?" Lancelot asked, suddenly worried.
"We made him..." "We didn't want him to..." Gwaine and Elyan spoke at the same time, each stopping when they heard the other was speaking.
Lancelot didn't need to hear the rest, he understood what they were saying. They made Merlin stay behind because they thought they were looking for his body and didn't want Merlin to see it. That was thoughtful really, Lancelot decided, wanting to spare Merlin from such an experience. Yet he knew Merlin had seen more horrors than they realized. He would have smiled at them, but exhaustion pulled at his body making his muscles too heavy to move. Later he would have to thank them though.
When Sir Percival approached, Lancelot tried to ready his mind. One way or another he was getting into the saddle, and any way it happened there would be pain. Percival gave him a sympathetic glance, then nodded towards the horse, silently asking if he was ready. He wasn't, but he gave a nod anyway. Even though Percival was being as gentle as he could, the next few moments were a haze of pain, and distantly Lancelot heard himself cry out in pain as the soft, gray fog closed in. The pain didn't leave, but his awareness of it lessened.
Cognizance gradually returned to Lancelot, first with the soft sound of hoof beats, then the sensation of gentle motion. Whether he had been unconscious or simply unaware, he didn't know, but as he opened his eyes he confirmed that they had begun the trek to camp. Slowly he blinked his horses mane into focus, the grey fog still lingering at the edges of his consciousness.
"Lancelot?" Elyan's voice came from his right. "You with us?"
Lifting his head proved harder a task than he remembered. Finally he straightened his body enough to look at his fellow knight.
"We will be to camp soon." Gwaine spoke up from his left.
Both knights rode as close as their mounts would allow, no doubt there to ensure he didn't fall out of the saddle. Gratefully he noted the lack of anything tying him to the horse. The situation was embarrassing enough and he didn't need the added indignity. What he needed was rest, his body making that demand known. As they rode on, Gwaine started his usual chattering, though it was punctuated with questions, each to reassure him that Lancelot was still conscious. Lancelot supposed it was best he stay awake as possible until they reached camp, and Merlin, but the longer they rode the harder it became to keep focused.
At first he wasn't even conscious of the camp, only noticing they arrived when Percival gently gripped his arm. Merlin stood close to the burly knight, face pale as he took in Lancelot's appearance. Carefully they pulled him off the right side of his horse and Lancelot couldn't stifle a chuckle at how backwards the action was, nor the pained groan that followed it. Things blurred as Merlin and Percival helped him into camp. When he felt his body come into contact with the bedroll he finally gave up the fight to stay awake.
The first thing Lancelot registered when he awoke, rough fabric of a cloak draped over his chest, told him that his maille and shirt had been removed. The second thing he noticed was someone dabbing a wet cloth on the left side of his face. He twitched as the cloth hit a tender spot.
"Lancelot?" The relief and hopefulness in Merlin's voice helped Lancelot pry his eyes open.
Merlin sat, hand half extended towards his head, watching him. The cloth in Merlin's hand was either naturally red, or soaked in his blood. While a disturbing thought it explained the rather horrified looks he received. Of course, it could mean Merlin already cleaned his other scrapes and cuts.
"Almost done there, Merlin?" Lancelot asked, his dry throat causing his voice to come out rather raspy.
"Sorry," Merlin winced apologetically. "I was hoping you wouldn't wake yet, at least until I had gotten through the worst of it." Merlin rummaged through something behind him before turning back, a small potion filled glass bottle in one hand, a water skin in the other. "Probably water first." He declared, looking between the two.
"Water first." Lancelot agreed.
"Try not to move too much." Merlin told him, setting the bottle down. "I haven't got your shoulder set or the joint back in place yet."
"Oh." Lancelot murmured as Merlin helped him lift his head and take a few small sips of water before grabbing the bottle. The potion was bitter and required more water to completely wash it down. With his head off the ground Lancelot got a good look around and noticed something. "Where are the others?" In his line of vision he could see Arthur and Leon, apparently deep in conversation some distance away, but no one else seemed to be around.
"Arthur sent the others ahead, back to Camelot." Merlin told him, fidgeting in a way that said more than the words. As one of Arthur's 'commoner' knights, he was often on the receiving end of the sneers of the more arrogant noble knights. The way Merlin's fidgeting and lack of eye contact told it, there must have been some sort of incident. Which might explain why a cloak was covering him before Merlin had completed his work.
"Don't worry about it, Merlin." Lancelot said quietly.
"Sir Baede had no right to say anything like that." Merlin snapped, his eyes flashing with anger before he leaned in to whisper, "besides, I think it was the last straw for Arthur. And I think he was trying to give you some privacy. Well, I mean they don't need to see all your wounds. Or me trying to fix them. I mean..."
"Merlin" Lancelot interrupted, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, "I get it." And he did, Arthur was showing, in his own way, that he cared. Not just about the physical wounds, but about his dignity. All of the knights knew that Arthur expected them to work together and didn't tolerate the put downs some of the other knights uttered when he wasn't around, but that didn't stop the ones who felt the reputation of Camelot was sullied by having knights without noble blood. Arthur would do what he could to keep them from gaining new, and far more hurtful, insults.
"How's the pain?" Merlin asked.
Lancelot had to think about that for a moment, he hadn't really been focused on his injuries, except to acknowledge the ache in his head. His shoulder still throbbed with every heartbeat and stabbed with every breath, but it was more tolerable than before. The rest of his aches and pains were minor in comparison.
"Manageable." He answered.
"You should rest then," Merlin instructed, "I've really only just started." Lancelot heard the sound of something splashing in water, then Merlin raised the cloth he held previously, freshly damp, and gently started washing the very tender side of Lancelot's head. "I would have started sooner, but your wounds weren't bleeding and Arthur wanted me to wait until the others had left." Merlin chattered as he worked, and while he was being gentle, Lancelot still winced every time the cloth brushed his head. "I probably should have started sooner. Or at least set your shoulder first, while you were out. I'm sorry I didn't think of that sooner."
"Merlin, it's okay." Lancelot interjected. "Just tell me it's not too bad to fix."
Merlin glanced around before leaning in close, "I think the bone is pretty bad, broken in more than one place, but..." He trailed off, looking at the ground, uncertainty.
"If you can do anything, I would be grateful." Lancelot whispered, "just don't do too much or they will definitely notice."
"I can't guarantee anything. It's not really my strong suit." Merlin admitted softly. "I've failed before."
Lancelot reached up with his good hand and grasped Merlin's forearm as he assured him, "I believe in you."
Unfortunately before Merlin could even respond, Arthur noticed the movement and quickly came over. He crouched down by Lancelot's head, sweeping a quick glance over his prone form.
"Don't get too comfortable," Arthur said, "I don't allow my knights to lay about."
"You insensitive prat!" Merlin exclaimed, rolling his eyes with a small grin.
"I won't, Sire." Lancelot responded, cutting off the inevitable insult war before it began. He knew as well as Merlin, or any of the knights, that those words were as close as Arthur would come to saying 'get better soon'. Sure enough, Arthur clasped arms with him for a moment before stalking off, muttering about idiot manservants.
"He needs to learn how to say the simple things, like 'I was worried' or 'get better'." Merlin muttered, "but no, he's a..." A glove smacked Merlin in the back of the head, cutting him off.
"I can still hear you!" Arthur shouted.
Lancelot chuckled lightly at how normal the whole scene was, before wincing as his ribs twinged. Apparently that potion didn't stop the pain, but at least he no longer felt like he was being stabbed and bludgeoned from his shoulder. At that point Merlin pulled his cloak off, the cool air making Lancelot shiver, then bite back a groan as pain flared from his injuries.
"I don't think any ribs are broken," Merlin told him, fingers gently probing his bruised side. "Anywhere else I should know of?"
"Hip." Lancelot bit out, trying to control his breathing. Merlin's touch was quite light but it still sent fresh ripples of pain racing through his body. A quick, yet painful, few moments later Merlin was through probing the bones there. Belatedly he noticed Merlin had not removed his trousers and he appreciated the small gesture of modesty. His friend seemed to understand he felt far too vulnerable already.
"I don't think it's broken," announced Merlin a moment later. "You really should rest while I tend your injuries. Your body needs it."
"I will try," he said softly. "And Merlin, thank you."
Merlin just smiled and started cleaning his arm.
Lancelot wasn't aware of having fallen asleep until he awoke to pain, crying out as his shoulder shifted, body jerking against the hands that held him. Familiar voices bid him relax and be still, assuring him it would pass soon. Opening his eyes, he blinked until the blurs above him resolved themselves into the shapes of Percival, Leon, and Merlin, the first two seemed to be holding him still while Merlin worked on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry," murmured Merlin. "I tried to be as quick as I could."
Lancelot just nodded, not trusting his voice at the moment. The pain in his shoulder had subsided some, but he strongly suspected that this wasn't the end. Leon and Percival looked at him with a mix of understanding and concern, silently reinforcing his conclusion.
"Percival, I'm going to need your help." Merlin spoke up quietly, and the big knight nodded without hesitation. "I need you to brace the bone for me, I can't bind it until I'm done." Lancelot watched Merlin carefully arrange Percival's large hand over his damaged shoulder, trying to suppress the flinch that automatically resulted from the pain. "Just try to keep the bones from slipping."
Percival looked grim, focusing his attention on Lancelot's shoulder instead of his face, obviously trying not to think too much about how much pain he would cause his friend while trying to help. Lancelot tried to smile at him, to let him know it was okay. Actually, the knights hands were cool, and Lancelot became aware it seemed to help ease the pain. Maybe when they were finished, he could get Percival to leave his hand, to test that theory.
"The next part is going to...well..." mumbled Merlin, holding out a short stick, no other words necessary. Lancelot grimaced but obligingly let it be placed in his mouth. He was just thankful Merlin had cleaned it off first.
Then Merlin slipped the joint back into place, and Lancelot could only try to stop the scream that slipped out, his teeth sinking into the wood. To Lancelot it felt like an eternity, although he knew Merlin would have tried to be quick. Finally the pain lessened and Lancelot felt himself being sat up, the movement disturbing his ribs which were already complaining from his ragged breathing. As Merlin began to stabilize and bind his shoulder Percival moved his hand and sat back. Lancelot immediately missed the cool touch.
Carefully spitting out the stick he tried to steady his breathing and said, "Percival, your...hands...are cold."
"Sorry," Percival apologized softly.
"No," Lancelot shook his head, pausing for a moment as Merlin moved his arm to bind it to his body. "It helped...shoulder."
"It helped the pain?" Merlin asked, a thoughtful look crossing his face.
Lancelot nodded, then felt himself being shifted so Leon was supporting him as Percival carefully placed his other, cooler, hand on the injured shoulder. A small hiss escaped Lancelot as the weight settled, but it wasn't long before the throbbing in his shoulder dulled some. It wasn't a great difference really, but better than before.
"I'll need some fresh water from the stream," Merlin spoke to no one in particular as he gathered up some previously discarded cloths.
"I'll get it." Elyan's voice piped up from somewhere behind Lancelot, and he heard the sound of the other knight getting up and moving away. Now that his breathing was evening out, he felt the all too familiar tug of sleep.
When he awoke sometime later, Lancelot found himself once again laying on his back, covered by a cloak. He also felt the cool, damp cloth on his shoulder that eased a layer of his pain. Then the smell of food flooded his senses, causing his stomach to make its emptiness known. Blinking sleep out of his eyes, Lancelot noted that the sun was now beginning to set, telling him he slept for some time.
"You're awake." Prince Arthur's voice pulled his attention to the man sitting next to him.
"So it seems, Sire" Lancelot responded, noticing how dry his mouth felt. Arthur seemed to notice, grabbing out his waterskin and moving closer to help Lancelot sit up. His uninjured arm helped, but he knew from the weak feeling in his body and the way his head protested he wouldn't have managed on his own. He managed to drink a satisfying amount of water, while leaving some for his regent. It really wouldn't be becoming of a knight to drink all of his majesty's water.
"Merlin should have dinner ready soon," Arthur told him, taking back his waterskin before studying Lancelot carefully. "Do you think you can manage on your own?"
Before Lancelot could respond he heard Gwaine's chuckling as the knight came closer.
"Don't worry, Princess," Gwaine teased lightly, "I've got this." Lancelot felt Gwaine gently settle himself on the bedroll, his back providing plenty of support for Lancelot to lean on.
"Thank you, Sir Gwaine." Arthur responded mockingly with an exaggerated eye roll.
"Don't worry about it." Gwaine threw back.
Lancelot ducked his head to hide a smirk, only to wince as his shoulder pulled with the movement. Despite all Merlin had done to keep it from moving, he knew it would take time for the pain to lessen.
"You're lucky the break wasn't that bad," Arthur said, his voice serious.
Lancelot nodded, not trusting his voice for a moment. He knew it was worse than they knew, but obviously Merlin had the chance to do what healing he could with magic. It was just unfortunate that he couldn't thank his friend with the other knights nearby. That would just have to wait for later he decided.
Soon enough Merlin finished cooking, which brought up the next question of where to place Lancelot's plate, since he couldn't hold it himself, or contort himself to reach far or awkwardly. That was solved when Percival simply grabbed a large stone and placed it next to Lancelot. The convenient size of it meant that Lancelot didn't have to bend over or twist much to eat.
Dinner finished soon enough, and Lancelot once more rested on his bedroll, quietly conversing with Leon. He had been surprised when, after they had re-taken Camelot and begun to integrate into the knights, that Sir Leon had stuck with them. Truthfully, he had expected the nobleman to be somewhat distant once reunited with his peers. If anything the senior knight had almost seemed withdrawn from the other nobles. They still responded to his experience and status, but outside of duty the man sought their companionship more and more. Lancelot had long since begun to suspect that some of the traditionalist knights were giving him as much of a hard time as the "commoner" knights. He would have to use his period of convalescence to investigate. Maybe Merlin would want to help.
Laughter echoed through the clearing, and Lancelot looked over to see Gwaine shove Elyan in the shoulder playfully, the others smirking or laughing at whatever had been said. They weren't typical or noble knights, but somehow that made it so much better.
The next few days were a slow trek to Camelot. Every day Lancelot rode in the center of the group, constantly flanked by his friends to prevent even the chance he might fall. Every so often one would move up, or fall behind, only to have his place taken by another. Lancelot might have found this stifling if it weren't for the few times he really did fall asleep and almost slipped from the saddle.
Finally they arrived home in Camelot to a heroes welcome, which Lancelot only saw a glimpse of as he was quickly shepherded up to Giaus and carefully lain on a patient cot. The physician in question had equally quickly kicked the other knights out and performed his own examination as Lancelot's energy seeped from him. Stubbornly he stayed awake. There was something more important than sleep, even for his battered body.
Some time later Merlin finally stumbled through the door, a large grin splitting his face as he saw Lancelot awake. He couldn't help but smile back as his friend approached.
"How are you feeling?" Merlin asked.
"Much better, thank you." Lancelot answered, truly grateful to his friend.
"Gaius always has the right salves and potions." Merlin said, pride in his mentor shining through.
"Indeed he does," Lancelot agreed, "but Merlin, I know what you did. Thank you, my friend."
Merlin just smiled that wide, brilliant smile of his and said, "Anytime."
I hope you liked it. Reviews would be lovely.
And if you happened to spot and are wondering if that one reference means I might be writing a companion one-shot you might be right. ;) Kudos if you caught it.