Title: Lancelot of the Lake
Category: Gen (Canon AU)
Characters/Pairings: Lancelot, Freya, Kilgharrah
Rating/Warnings: K+
Summary: Believing his life is over, Lancelot thanks Merlin with his final breath. He doesn't realize that his place in legend has only just begun. Set at the end of Episode 4x09.
Lancelot of the Lake
Lancelot felt the fire engulf him in the wake of Merlin's whispered words that had sent the tiny boat gliding across the surface of the dark water. Strange, but even as the flames turned the rushes around him to cinders and scorched the clothing from his body, he could feel no pain.
It was stranger still that he'd awakened at all. When Merlin had willed breath and memory back into him for the briefest moment, all he'd been able to manage was a feeble whisper of gratitude before he'd felt the life fading from his body again. Yes, he'd known it was the end as he'd closed his eyes and the world had faded to black.
And yet without explanation, awareness had come surging back at the very same instant the boat had caught fire.
What is this? Lancelot asked himself in bewilderment. Why do the flames not finish me off?
Onward he drifted, breathing in the acrid smoke as if it were a fresh spring breeze. Putting his confusion aside after a moment, he let out a soft sigh of surrender, patiently waiting for fate to carry him to his next destination.
Suddenly, the boat shuddered and collapsed around him, plunging him headlong into the icy water. Down he sank like a stone, lacking the strength to fight his way back to the surface. Instinct compelled him to hold his breath for as long as he could manage, but as he reached the bottom of the lake, it became impossible not to open his mouth and take a deep, gasping breath.
First one breath, then another. Water filled his lungs like air, bringing him refreshment and relief, rather than the terrible strangling sensation of drowning that was to be expected.
"How is it that I can breathe both smoke and water?" he blurted out loud, amazed as his words came to him clearly, not garbled or distorted as if spoken underwater. "What is this? I do not understand."
"This is destiny," spoke a soft, feminine voice behind him. "This is magic."
Startled, he turned to find a young, dark haired woman gazing at him with a serene smile playing about her lips. She was breathing just as he was... breathing and speaking, seemingly unaffected by the water that filled her mouth and lungs.
"W-who are you?" he asked cautiously.
"I am Freya," she replied in a melodious voice that seemed to carry the faintest echo of rippling water. "I am the Lady of the Lake."
Remembering his courtesies even in this bizarre situation, he bowed politely. "My name is..."
"Lancelot," she interjected with a gentle laugh. "Yes, I know. Introductions are unnecessary here in the Lake. I've been expecting your arrival for many years."
"I don't understand."
"No, I'd imagine not," she said in a sympathetic voice. "It always seems to be the most simple souls who have the most challenging destinies laid at their feet. Perhaps that's because only those who are truly pure of heart have the strength to bear them. That is true for you, just as it is for Merlin. Perhaps even for myself to some degree."
"But my destiny is finished. It was my fate to sacrifice myself to heal the veil between the worlds. I made a vow and I fulfilled that promise. I cannot understand why it is I've been brought back to life not once, but twice now. My place in this world no longer exists."
Freya let out a merry laugh. "Poor Lancelot. All along, you've assumed your fate was of your own choosing. You've spent a lifetime making sacrifices for others, believing you were meant to do so. Choice and destiny are two very different things, I'm afraid. Destiny will always win, no matter how hard we might fight against it."
Lancelot struggled with that for a moment, exhausted and overwhelmed by his recent trials.
"Your life was returned to you because it was not your fate to die. In the end, you will outlive King Arthur himself, though that will not come to pass for many years. It is indeed your destiny to serve him, just not in the way you once believed."
He shook his head in disbelief. "Even if everything you say is true, it's too late for that now. What Morgana did... the damage I caused while under her influence... even if I am destined to live a long life as you say, I can never redeem myself after what has happened."
Freya flashed him an indulgent smile. "Oh, Lancelot. You listen but you do not hear. That's to be expected, I suppose. There's a strange sort of comfort in believing we can predict the outcome of days we have not yet lived."
"I meant no disrespect, my lady," he said in an apologetic voice. "It's just..."
"You don't have to explain yourself, Lancelot," Freya assured him, touching his arm with fingers that felt like raindrops. "There are some things we must experience for ourselves before we can accept them as truth. The truth in this moment is that we can remain here discussing your destiny... or I can set you free to go fulfill it as you will. Come. A friend awaits you on the shores of the Lake."
The water began to swirl beneath Lancelot, and ever so gently, a swift current propelled him in the direction of the world above. He emerged from the murky dimness at the bottom of the lake into bright sunlight, amazed to find himself standing on the water's surface as if it were solid earth beneath his feet.
Looking down, he saw Freya gazing up at him from the depths of the water, wearing that same serene smile that somehow comforted and unnerved him all at once.
"When you see Merlin again, please tell him the debt is repaid once more. Tell him we will meet again when the time is right."
He hesitated in surprise. "You know Merlin? How?"
Her eyes suddenly became so tender that Lancelot felt a lump in his throat. He'd only ever looked at one person that way... and that person had been the love of his life. He wouldn't press Freya further, knowing from his own experience that the secrets of the heart should never be questioned unless willingly volunteered.
Stifling his curiosity, he gave her a deep bow instead. "I promise to pass along your message should we ever meet again. It's the least I can do to repay your kindness."
Freya nodded, smiling one last time as she began to fade into the depths of the lake. "Make for the eastern shore..." she said, her voice trailing off into a whisper as she descended.
And then she was gone.
Lancelot walked slowly across the surface of the lake, suddenly feeling weak and shaky. Practical concerns invaded his mind as he began to realize just how extremely tired, cold, wet and hungry he was.
What "friend" was Freya referring to that was meant to meet him on the shores of the lake? Merlin? Hard to imagine anyone else it might be. He was drawing closer now, but all he could see was an empty clearing, surrounded by a scattering of ancient trees. There was no sign of human life to be found.
As he reached solid ground, he sank to his knees and called out tentatively. "Hello? Is anyone there?"
The quiet rustle of wind in the trees was the only response he could hear.
So exhausted his legs felt ready to collapse beneath him, he sank down on the soft grass with a sigh of relief. After a few minutes, his eyelids grew heavy and he felt himself drifting off to sleep, which seemed ill-advised under the circumstances. He should find food, build a fire, find at least something he could use to cover his nakedness. All this he knew as he lay there shivering, but it didn't matter. He simply couldn't muster the energy to rise.
Perhaps after a little rest...
Several hours later, he was jarred awake by a strangely familiar sound in the distance. It was a sort of pounding, not unlike the slap of leather upon leather, accompanied by a whooshing sound that became almost deafening as the tiny dark shape in the sky drew closer, suddenly so large it blocked out the moon itself.
The Dragon landed about a dozen yards away, settling his wings around himself. Quietly, he stared down at Lancelot, examining him with golden eyes that were filled with the wisdom of the ages.
"You!" Lancelot gasped in shock. "I thought..."
"You were expecting someone else?" the Dragon chuckled. "I am sorry to disappoint you then. Would you like me to go?"
"N-no. It's just that I..." The Dragon had unnerved him the first time they'd met, and that had been when he was well rested and had his full strength to rely on. Now, the creature was downright intimidating. "Forgive me," he finished lamely. "I've had a trying day."
"Yes, Sir Lancelot. I imagine you have."
Sir Lancelot? No, that was wrong. After everything that had happened, it was unlikely he could still hope to lay claim to such a title. Lancelot the Betrayer, maybe, or perhaps Lancelot the Ignoble...
He voiced this thought and attempted to explain the whole sordid mess. The Dragon cut him off almost immediately, however, snorting and rolling his giant eyes in annoyance.
"Yes, I know what the witch has done," he said impatiently, with venom in his mighty voice. "Don't worry, young Lancelot. Her actions will not be your legacy. You are Sir Lancelot, First Knight of Camelot. Sir Lancelot, the bravest and most noble of them all. Lancelot the Undying. Lancelot the Thrice Risen. Lancelot of the Lake. You're destined to have many names in legend. Are these enough, or would you like to hear more?"
"No, thank you. It's just... how am I to repair the damage that has been done? What must I do to bring about this great destiny that's supposed to be mine?"
"That you will know when the time comes."
"But when will that be?" Lancelot persisted, hating to be discourteous but desperately needing a more clear answer. "Just tell me where to begin at least. Please."
"So impatient," the Dragon said with a toothy grin. "I see you've been spending too much time around Merlin. He's a bad influence on you and I'm afraid that's only going to get worse. You'll be with him soon enough, and for a long time to come. But first, you'll need to recover your strength."
For the next three days, the mighty creature stayed with Lancelot, igniting fires that kept him warm and roasted the meat of the animals he hunted to feed them both.
On the second day, what appeared to be an extremely wealthy man wandered into the clearing, then proceeded to strip off his clothes, offering them to Lancelot without a single word. He refused to take no for an answer, just turned and left as silently as he'd come.
Lancelot shot the Dragon a meaningful look, shaking his head as the creature snickered to himself. Magic...
He felt fully recovered by the third night, strong, energetic, and ready to face the challenges to come. When the Dragon told him it was time to be on their way, he slid on his newly acquired boots and looked to his companion, hoping for some guidance as to what direction he should take.
Instead, the Dragon lowered his massive head to the ground, stretching out his long neck. "Climb on," he said matter-of-factly. "We have a long way to go."
Lancelot was dumbfounded. He expects me to ride him?
"Come, young Lancelot. Surely you're not frightened? The bravest knight of all, shrinking from a short journey on a Dragon's back? I can't imagine such a thing."
"It's not that," he said, recovering from his surprise. "It's just... where are we going?"
"You'll find out when we get there. But that'll never happen if you stand around asking me questions all night. Climb on. Merlin has ridden on my back plenty of times. If he can do it, then so can you."
Lancelot carefully mounted the Dragon; there was a great rocking motion and then he was flying through the air. He soon found himself exhilarated by the cool, rushing wind that caressed his face, dazzled by the brilliant stars that seemed so close he might be able to reach out and touch them if he weren't holding on for dear life.
Soon, almost too soon, the fascinating ride was over. They landed in a large meadow in the middle of a dense forest, serenely bathed in soft moonlight.
"I know this place," he whispered. "This is the Darkling Wood. Only a short distance from..."
"Camelot," the Dragon finished for him. "And Camelot awaits your return."
Without another word, the Dragon ascended into the air and flew away. Lancelot watched as his silhouette grew smaller and smaller against the bright yellow moon, and then took a deep breath, turning his feet in the direction of Camelot.
It doesn't matter what destiny awaits me when I arrive, he thought to himself with a great deal of heady anticipation. I am going home.