A/N: Am I bitter over Lancelot's memory being tarnished in the eyes of his friends forever? Yes, yes I am. Have a fix-it with a wallop of angst. (There will also be a part 2.)

"On the Banks of Avalon"

Elyan wakes on a bed of mossy grass with gold mottled leaves in the tree canopy above. He sits upright with a jolt and looks around. The last thing he remembers is Gwen in the dark tower and where is she? He scrambles to his feet and turns in a circle. The surrounding forest is tranquil and still, and there's an essence of peace about it that tries to calm Elyan's racing mind but he ignores the invitation. He has to find his sister, has to make sure she's safe.

A woman steps into view but it's not Gwen. Long dark hair falls in cascades around her shoulders and she's wearing deep blue silk that ripples like water around her form.

"Welcome, Sir Elyan," she greets with a kind smile.

"Who are you?" he asks warily. "Where am I?"

"You are in Avalon. I am the Lady of the Lake, keeper of this realm, though you may call me Freya."

He looks around again. "I don't understand."

Her expression turns mournful. "You died."

Elyan blinks dubiously. "Guinevere…"

"She is safe. You saved her."

He releases a taut breath at the news, though he's not sure why he feels he can trust this woman's word. "So I'm…" He can't bring himself to comprehend it. "Dead."

"Yes."

"This isn't what I expected," he admits, casting his gaze around the serene woods once more.

Freya smiles. "This place is reserved for Albion's greatest warriors."

Elyan furrows his brows. "Uh, I'm from Camelot."

She just continues to smile. "Yes." She beckons him forward. "Come, you have a friend here you should see."

Elyan's heart quickens with dread. Has someone else died trying to rescue Guinevere? "Who?" he asks anxiously.

Freya doesn't answer and simply leads him under the glittering eaves to another section of the forest. There's a burbling pool fed by a narrow waterfall, and standing at its edge gazing at the water is a figure that makes Elyan pull up short in shock.

"Lancelot," Freya calls.

The man turns, eyes lighting up at the sight of her. He's dressed in simple clothing: trousers and a red tunic. Elyan gapes at him for a split second before all the hurt and rage from years prior surges up, and then he's storming across the grass. He grabs Lancelot by the front of his shirt and slams him back against a tree trunk.

"You traitorous mongrel!" Elyan spits.

Lancelot stares at him wide-eyed and stunned.

"Stop it!" Freya snaps and claws at Elyan's arm, but he refuses to release the heinous traitor.

"How could you betray Arthur like that?" he rails. "And Gwen? She was banished because of you!"

"I said stop!"

Freya's voice cracks like thunder, and Elyan feels power rattle in his bones. A gust of wind blasts him in the face and chest, throwing him backward. He hits the ground hard and lies there dazed for a moment. Freya is aglow with a halo of blue, and Elyan scoots away from her in terror.

But she turns away from him and rushes to Lancelot, who's slid to the ground against the tree trunk, eyes wide and distant. He lifts his gaze to Freya as she crouches beside him.

"Guinevere?" he asks tremulously.

"No," she responds and sweeps back a lock of hair from his forehead. Wisps of golden light slip from her fingertips to brush across his brow. His eyelids start to droop.

"What happened to Guinevere?" he murmurs before his head lolls to the side.

Freya bows her own head and sighs, then turns to flash Elyan a furious look. She rises to her feet again, and he scrambles to his own as she marches toward him.

"What were you thinking?" she demands.

Elyan sputters at the audacity. "Me? Do you know what he did? What is he even doing here? You said this place was for Camelot's or whatever's greatest warriors, not their worst betrayers."

Freya shakes her head solemnly. "You don't know the full story. Lancelot has never betrayed Camelot or Arthur."

"I was there," Elyan seethes. He can still remember standing in the great hall as Gwen was brought in from the dungeons and thrown to her knees at Arthur's feet, how she had cried and pleaded for herself, but there was no justification for what she had done. What Lancelot had done. Elyan had been devastated by her banishment, and if Lancelot hadn't taken his own life, Elyan would have sought retribution himself.

"The man you think betrayed you all wasn't Lancelot," Freya says sternly. "Lancelot's last act on this earth was to sacrifice his life to close the veil and save you all. His love for Guinevere and Arthur was pure and selfless, and for that, the witch Morgana thought him the perfect instrument to destroy them. She brought him back from the dead as a shade, stole his body and enslaved his soul. And through him she not only managed to cleave a rift between Arthur and Guinevere, but corrupted Lancelot's sacrifice and memory in everyone he held dear. I know you grieved for your sister and king, Sir Elyan, but you all were not the most brutally victimized here."

Elyan can only stare at her, flummoxed by her tale. Could it be true? His gaze shifts past her to where Lancelot lies in slumber against the tree. He does look different than Elyan's last memory of the man, more like the friend he used to know back when they had first been knighted. He doesn't know what to think.

"Leave him for now," Freya says, and there is both kindness and fierce protectiveness in her tone.

Elyan slowly backs away, then pauses and turns to her. "What am I to do here?"

She spreads her arms to encompass the forest. "Rest. Be at peace. You have suffered your share in life, and I fear there will be more when you are called again to serve Albion in her greatest need."

"What does that mean?"

Freya shrugs. "We are both bound by the roles fate has given us."

And with that, she turns and walks back over to Lancelot. Elyan lingers for only a moment before he turns around and leaves.

He wanders through the forest, golden light lancing down through the canopy and dancing across the ground. There is no wildlife in this place that Elyan can detect. He knows Freya told him he is dead but he finds it difficult to fathom; he feels tangible enough. So he strides under the eaves, wondering if he can find a landmark he recognizes and then from there make his way back to Camelot.

He eventually breaks through the tree line and comes out upon the shore of a lake. Or perhaps an ocean; the glistening waves stretch as far as his eye can see. He frowns at the horizon, for there is no clear division between the water and sky, but the water seems to rise up. He follows its ascension to the sky above and finds the air is made of scintillating waves folded over this land like a dome. It's slightly unnerving.

Elyan follows the shoreline, but no matter how far he walks, it all looks the same, and he begins to think that either this is an island set apart from everything…or another realm entirely. A realm for the dead. Elyan stops and stares at the glittering horizon, tears pricking his eyes as grief finally begins to set in. He is dead, and he will never see his sister or friends again. He wonders how they are, how Gwen is coping with his death. His chest tightens at the unfairness of it all.

After a while—he's not sure how long for there seems to be no change of time, no sun above to arc a path from one end to the other or to surrender to night in this place—he turns and makes his way back to the waterfall. He doesn't actually know where he's going but figures he'll come upon it eventually. He does. And there is Lancelot, awake and sitting by the pool as glowing lights float around him. His expression is filled with wonder as he watches them.

Elyan feels the sting of betrayal and anger again, but he tries his best to shove it down and walks over. "Hey," he says awkwardly.

Lancelot looks up at him, forehead pinching in brief confusion before he smiles brightly. He doesn't say anything though.

Elyan takes a seat across from him and clears his throat. "I'm sorry about…before."

Lancelot furrows his brow again. "What do you mean?"

Now it's Elyan's turn to frown. "When I first saw you here."

"You were here before?"

"Yes. I…" Elyan doesn't want to say "I attacked you," but Lancelot's reaction is confusing him. He shifts uneasily. "Do you know who I am?"

Lancelot turns thoughtful for a long moment, then breaks into another smile. "Elyan." His gaze drifts back to the tiny orbs of light bobbing like fireflies around them.

Elyan's gut churns with alarm. "Lancelot, do you know where we are?" he asks earnestly.

Lancelot glances his way again, appearing to take far too long to think of an answer. "We're right here," he finally says. "It's nice to see you, Elyan. I've missed you all." And then his attention returns to the lights.

Elyan wants to grab the man and shake him again, though for entirely different reasons this time. He catches sight of Freya entering the glade and jumps to his feet to storm over.

"What did you do to him?" he hisses angrily.

She gapes at him dubiously. "Nothing."

"You put him under a spell earlier. What did you do?" He wishes he had his sword with him, not that he thinks it would do much against the power she displayed earlier.

"I put him to sleep after you upset him," she retorts sharply. She flicks a look past him toward Lancelot, then sighs. "Did he recognize you?"

Elyan continues to glower at her suspiciously. "Yes. But he's…off. What's wrong with him?"

Freya gives Elyan a sad look. "I told you Morgana resurrected him as a shade, bound to her will. In doing so, she ripped his soul apart. He was freed, in the end, after his second death, but it…left him damaged. He was given into my care after that. In fact, what happened to him is the reason you are here now, so that such a violation of soul and body cannot happen again. No one, not even Morgana, will be able to tear you from this sacred haven."

Elyan's head is spinning, and he turns to look at his old friend again. He believes Freya's story now, and there's a relief and freedom in knowing that Lancelot didn't actually betray them. But there's grief too, because Elyan can see fragments of the man Lancelot used to be, and his heart clenches with recrimination that he used to think so badly of him.

"It will be good for him that you're here," Freya says softly.

Elyan nods mutely and goes back over. Lancelot only spares him another warm smile before those lights captivate him again. Elyan doesn't know what to say, and so he just sits in silence for a while. It grates on him, though; he's not used to it.

"What are those?" he finally asks, nodding to the glowing orbs.

"Vilia," Lancelot replies. "Spirits of brooks and streams."

Silence descends again, and Elyan fidgets restlessly.

"They keep the darkness away," Lancelot adds after a few moments. "They healed Merlin after the Dorocha attacked him."

Elyan straightens at that. They'd never gotten the full story of how Merlin had been miraculously healed after an attack that had killed every other victim. And then it was Lancelot's death they were mourning and everything else had seemed inconsequential after that.

"You remember the Dorocha?" Elyan asks carefully.

Lancelot nods slowly, like it takes effort to think about. "How is Merlin?"

"He's fine…"

"Good. I hope he knows it wasn't his fault. It was my decision."

Elyan cants his head curiously. "Is walking through the veil the last thing you remember?"

Lancelot's brows knit together in concentration. Elyan watches him carefully as various expressions flit across his face like a barrage of memories and emotions, but then they're gone, smoothed away, and Lancelot looks over.

"I remember picking berries earlier. Are you hungry? I can show you where they grow."

Elyan falters at the unexpected turn. "Um, sure," he says. Do they even need nourishment if they're dead?

Lancelot gets to his feet and walks off into the forest. Elyan follows. Everything looks the same but Lancelot seems to know where he's going. He leads Elyan to a lush blackberry bush full of ripe fruit and immediately starts picking some. Elyan proceeds to do the same, watching Lancelot carefully. Right now he seems normal, but Elyan is beginning to realize that can change rapidly. He doesn't know when he'll get another chance and so he blurts,

"I'm sorry."

Lancelot shoots a confused look his way. "For what?"

"For…" Elyan exhales heavily. "For things neither of us can change anymore," he says in defeat.

Lancelot looks contemplative as he pops a berry in his mouth.

Elyan bites into one tentatively. Sweet flavor bursts over his tongue. His "body" may not need food anymore, but the taste is still pleasing. He supposes that's all part of this paradise set aside for "Camelot's greatest warriors."

"Will you be leaving soon?" Lancelot asks quietly.

Elyan flicks a surprised look at him and almost responds with a sharp "Don't you understand where we are?" But he doesn't. He has no desire to be unkind when he's struggling enough himself with his new circumstances.

"No," he says gently instead. "I'm not going anywhere."

.o.0.o.

Avalon may be peaceful but it doesn't take long for Elyan to get bored. Unlike Lancelot, he can't while away hours entranced by a few floaty lights. At first he coaxes his friend into exploring the isle with him, but Lancelot is too easily distracted and Elyan eventually loses patience with him, so he starts leaving Lancelot to his water sprites and goes hiking on his own. He makes several circuits of the island but finally stops going as far as the edge. The stark visual of this intransigent realm only squeezes his heart with grief more. Freya said this is a sanctuary; it feels like a prison.

She comes and goes often, who knows from where. Lancelot is comfortable around her, and she's content to just sit with him in companionable silence. Elyan asks about Avalon, Albion, this destiny she alluded to. She answers what she can but more often than not she is cryptic about it.

She does, however, drop the shocking revelation of Merlin having magic on him.

Elyan splutters incredulously at that, and Freya takes advantage of his speechlessness to fill him in on all the times Merlin saved Camelot. His mind is reeling all over the place as he wracks his own memories for signs of all this. How could he have missed it?

"Right under Arthur's nose?" he exclaims.

Freya smiles fondly. "Yes. But one day it won't be that way. One day Merlin will come into his own, and he and Arthur will unite the kingdom of Albion."

Elyan shakes his head, utterly floored.

"Emrys," Lancelot speaks up.

Freya nods. "That's what the Druids call him, yes."

Lancelot's expression turns melancholic. "I miss him."

Freya smiles sadly and reaches out to clasp his hand. "Me too."

Elyan's heart gives a pang for those he also left behind.

.o.0.o.

Elyan finds a pair of long sticks and goes to poke Lancelot with them. "Why don't we spar?"

Lancelot gazes at the proffered item blankly.

"Come on," Elyan eggs him. "Freya said we're waiting to be called back for Arthur's need; we should keep our skills sharp."

Lancelot takes the stick and simply stares at it.

Elyan huffs. "You're a knight, remember?"

Lancelot frowns, and a range of odd emotions flicker across his face. He spends so long looking at the stupid stick that Elyan loses patience and stalks off. He upbraids himself for it once he's a good distance away. It's not Lancelot's fault he's like this, but sometimes Elyan feels so utterly alone. He has one friend in this forsaken place but that friend isn't who he used to be. And Elyan misses him.

He wanders idly for a while until his temper cools off and then he goes back. But Lancelot isn't at the waterfall. Elyan scans the area, unsure what to do. He knows Lancelot can't get lost here, but he feels compelled to go looking for him anyway.

And he finds him, curled up on the ground shaking.

"Lancelot!" Elyan runs over and drops down beside him, grasping his shoulder. He can feel the violent tremors wracking his frame and he whips his gaze around in alarm. "Freya!"

But she doesn't seem to be around. Elyan bends over Lancelot worriedly.

"Tell me what's wrong," he pleads.

Lancelot forces his eyes open, and Elyan is rocked by the sheer anguish wavering in them. "Don't make me go back," he begs. "Not to her."

"What are you talking about?" And then Elyan mentally curses. Morgana, of course.

"She can't get you here," Elyan assures him. "Freya said so."

Lancelot squeezes his eyes shut and presses his face into the grass. "It hurts."

Elyan looks him over for injury, but of course there is none; what can hurt someone who's already dead? Not physically, anyway.

Lancelot clutches at his chest and chokes on a low keen. Elyan wonders for one horrifying moment if Morgana is trying to pull Lancelot back again. But Freya said that can't happen. Still, Elyan doesn't know what to do as he watches Lancelot jerk and moan in pain.

"Lancelot…" He looks around helplessly for Freya.

Lancelot rolls his gaze up to Elyan. "I hurt them," he says, voice breaking. "I hurt you." He turns his face toward the ground again. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Elyan grabs his friend and hauls him upright, pulling him back against his chest. "It's okay," he urges. "You're okay."

Lancelot shudders, and Elyan tightens his arms around him. He doesn't know what else to do. He doesn't know how long he holds his friend before exhaustion seems to finally put out the shaking. But still Elyan doesn't let go.

"I didn't want to," Lancelot whispers hoarsely. "I screamed, but no one heard me."

Elyan's heart clenches at that. "You're safe now," he whispers back. "I'm here, and I hear you."

Lancelot's tremors are minute now, and he doesn't try to move from Elyan's embrace. And so neither does Elyan.

Some time later, Freya finds them like that. Her expression is grieved but not alarmed as she hurries over and kneels in front of them.

Lancelot manages to open his eyes as she cards her fingers through his hair. "It hurts."

"I know."

That gold light from before spills from her fingertips. Inches from Elyan's face, he can feel the warmth radiating from it, can feel a calming essence suffuse the air and make him sleepy. He snaps himself out of it as Lancelot's head lolls to the side and he falls completely still at last.

"I'm sorry," Freya says. "I was called away."

Elyan shifts experimentally. His back and legs are stiff from sitting in this position so long. "Will he be okay?"

Freya nods. "He's asleep. He'll feel better when he wakes." She reaches out to help Elyan ease Lancelot down onto his back. This place is as good as the burbling waterfall for a nap, Elyan supposes.

He draws his knees up and hooks his arms over them. "How often does this happen?" he asks quietly.

Freya gazes sadly at Lancelot and strokes his hair again. "Periodically. He hasn't lost his memories; they're just…fragmented. Every so often the bad ones surface."

Elyan watches Lancelot sleep and is glad Freya's magic seems able to stave off the nightmares.

The memory of reality is terrible enough.

.o.0.o.

Elyan finds it easier to be more patient with Lancelot after that. They sit by the pool and watch the floating lights and take walks and pick blackberries. Elyan discards his chainmail in favor of just his tunic. He doesn't try again to get Lancelot to spar with him.

"Do you remember when we were out on patrol and Gwaine fell in the stream?" Elyan asks. "And he had to ride back into Camelot looking like a drowned rat?"

Lancelot tilts his head in thought. Elyan waits and doesn't rush him. He's rewarded with an amused grin several moments later.

"Gwaine," Lancelot says with a wealth of memory. "Merlin braided his hair once after he drank too much at the tavern and passed out."

Elyan beams. "That's right. Everyone was calling him princess for a while after that."

Lancelot's smile widens. "Do you think they're all right?" he wonders aloud.

"I don't know," Elyan answers with a touch of sadness. "They must be, if they're not here yet."

"I'm glad you're here," Lancelot tells Elyan. He still doesn't fully understand what it means that they're here, but that's alright. It's not important right now.

And while Elyan misses his sister and the other knights, he feels a purpose in his death and, perhaps more importantly, in this afterlife.

He reaches out and squeezes his friend's forearm. "Me too."