A/N: Thank you SnidgetHex, Buckhunter, and GuestM for reviewing!

Chapter 6

The staccato clang of steel reverberated on the crisp air as Lancelot and Arthur went through their paces. The first snowfall of the season had landed that night, coating the castle grounds in white powder. But they'd gone ahead with their training despite the cold, and the exercise served to warm them up.

Lancelot parried and riposted in quick succession, finding his rhythm in the swordplay like a dance. It was exhilarating. Lancelot drove Arthur back with a series of thrusts before finally managing to twist the prince's sword out of his hand and sweep the flat side of the blade down in a follow-through that knocked Arthur's legs out from under him. The prince landed flat on his back on the ground.

Arthur looked up at him in shock, and Lancelot's momentary thrill at victory was quickly overshadowed with fear that he'd grossly overstepped. He faltered, unsure whether offering to help Arthur up would offend his pride further.

But then Arthur bolted upright and threw a snowball in Lancelot's face. Lancelot staggered back, stunned. Arthur was grinning.

Lancelot dropped his sword and darted away to scoop up his own snowball to throw back. He missed and got hit in the arm by Arthur. Lancelot strengthened his resolve as he gathered up more snow, and the two of them quickly devolved into a full out snowball fight, their laughter pealing through the gardens.

The big floofy dog joined in, barking and jumping around as they chased each other across the grounds. Merlin was perched in a tree, watching with obvious glee, and Arthur pulled up short to give Lancelot a meaningful look. Lancelot nodded subtly in return, and together they turned to pelt Merlin with snowballs.

The cat yowled indignantly and scampered away. "If I had opposable thumbs, you'd be the ones running!" he shouted over his shoulder.

"I doubt that!" Arthur hollered back, then promptly turned to throw snow at Lancelot again.

Lancelot bolted the opposite direction and around some cover to get a good shot in. Arthur ran past as Lancelot was gathering up the biggest ball of snow yet. He threw it at the prince and struck him right in the chest. Arthur yelped and lost his balance, arms pinwheeling, and it was only then that Lancelot realized he was standing too close to the edge of a garden wall. Arthur fell off the side, a horrendous scream echoing from his landing.

"Arthur!" Lancelot yelled as he ran around the incline to reach the bottom.

Arthur was lying five feet below the wall, clutching his arm, which had a bulge where there shouldn't be one. Lancelot dropped down beside him frantically but was afraid to touch him. He whipped his gaze around. "Help! Someone help!"

He heard the clank of armor rushing out, but then an enraged roar rattled the air as Uther himself came charging out of the castle. Lancelot scrambled backward as Uther skidded to a stop in front of them, eyes blazing red as he looked between his son and Lancelot.

"Guards!" he bellowed.

The suits of armor were already on their way, and Lancelot scooted back further as they crowded in to help Arthur up. But they were clumsy about it and grabbed his broken arm, which made Arthur scream and abruptly go limp. Lancelot started forward to try to help, but a snarl from Uther pushed him back.

"Get him to the physician," Uther snapped at the knights.

They scooped Arthur up and carried him away. Again, Lancelot moved to follow, but Uther grabbed the front of his shirt and flung him around to the ground.

"This is your fault!" Uther raged.

"It was an accident," Lancelot stammered, pushing himself up.

Uther's nostrils flared, and he swiped a massive paw at Lancelot. The claws caught him across the shoulder and collar bone, throwing him to the ground with a splash of crimson. Pain rocked Lancelot off his senses, leaving him jerking and choking on it. Uther grabbed the back of his neck and hauled him up. Lancelot's vision almost whited out as he was dragged down to the dungeon and thrown into the cell again. Uther slammed the door closed before storming out.

Lancelot lay on his side on the straw, shaking as hot blood streamed down his chest. The warmth he'd had earlier was quickly bleeding away along with the red, until his body was trembling from shock and cold.

At some point he heard the muffled sound of someone urgently calling his name, and then a cold nose was pressed into his cheek. He managed to open his eyes a crack and found Merlin's cerulean blue looking back at him.

"No, no, Lancelot, hold on," Merlin urged. "I'll get Arthur. Just hold on!"

The cat then turned and darted through the cell bars and out of sight.

Lancelot wasn't sure how long it was before he heard shuffling in the stairwell. He hadn't bled out yet, and by the stains on the floor he didn't think he was going to. Which probably just meant a slower death from neglect.

The cell door creaked open and Arthur slipped inside, his arm splinted and bound across his chest. His eyes widened in horror. "Oh, Lancelot," he breathed, dropping down beside him. "What has my father done?"

"D-don't," Lancelot rasped. "Don't want you…in trouble."

"I am not leaving you like this," Arthur said staunchly. He got to his feet and turned to look over his shoulder. "Sir Leon."

A knight suit of armor clomped in and came over. Bending down, he picked Lancelot up in his cold arms. The ceiling and walls swirled together as Lancelot was carried through the castle to a tower he hadn't been in before. It had high walls with two levels of shelves filled with books and a ladder leaning against them. Jars and accoutrements sat on tables and other shelves.

Sir Leon laid Lancelot on a cot and stepped back. Another statue moved forward from the back, an aged man of greenish marble with lichen growing on his stooped shoulders and down a head of long stone hair.

"Gaius, please help him," Arthur said, half commanding, half pleading.

The statue of course didn't speak as he pulled apart the tears in Lancelot's coat and tunic to inspect the wounds. Arthur's expression was pinched with intense worry, and Lancelot felt even more guilty for being the cause of all this.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"You did nothing wrong," Arthur replied.

The statue moved away, only to return a moment later with a cup, which he pressed against Lancelot's lips in a prompt to drink. He obediently parted his lips and took in the liquid. It was bitter and his gag reflex immediately triggered, but the statue physician pushed a firm marble hand under his chin, forcing his jaw closed so that he had to choke the brew down.

"You'll have to forgive Gaius's bedside manner," Merlin spoke from somewhere on the floor.

Lancelot coughed, but some of the fiery burn began to fade. The physician then took a knife to his coat and tunic to get them off. Lancelot winced as the ripped tatters were discarded on the floor. He supposed they were ruined anyway, but he lamented the loss. Even if they weren't really his anyway.

Then the statue set to work cleaning the wounds, and that ignited a fresh burst of agony. Lancelot shuddered under the ministrations. The marble statue lacked the dexterity for suturing, so he couldn't close the lacerations. Instead he thoroughly cleaned them out and then applied some salve. The cold unguent made Lancelot shiver even more. Then the stone physician gestured to the metallic knight, who slid his arms under Lancelot's armpits and lifted him up so the doctor could wrap his shoulder, neck, and chest in bandages.

"Will he be all right?" Arthur asked worriedly.

The marble physician merely handed the prince a vial of medicine and then retreated to his corner to fall dormant again, his work done.

Arthur turned to the knight. "Bring Lancelot up to my chambers."

Lancelot moaned as he was lifted up again. He was fading fast. But he was still clinging to consciousness when they reached Arthur's chambers and the suit of armor turned toward Lancelot's pallet.

"No," Arthur said. "Put him in my bed."

Lancelot vaguely thought he should protest the impropriety of that, but he was too drowsy to argue. And when his body was gently laid on the soft feather mattress, he finally drifted away.

Arthur sat in a chair pulled close to his bed, watching Lancelot. Even unconscious, the young man's face was slightly pinched in pain. Gaius had given Arthur some kind of medicine for the patient, but Lancelot would have to wake to take it and Arthur thought it best to let him rest for now. Arthur's own arm ached dully and he'd love to lie down himself, but Lancelot had suffered worse. And for what? His father's unjustified wrath? Arthur knew he'd have to face his father before Uther found Lancelot gone from the dungeon, but he was not looking forward to it.

Merlin sat on the bed next to Lancelot's face, tail curled around his paws.

"Will he be all right?" Arthur asked.

"He will," Merlin said with confidence.

Arthur knew there was no way for Merlin to guarantee that, but it was nice to hear a positive outlook.

There was a scratching at the door, and Arthur turned with a frown as Sir Leon shifted to open it. The dog immediately pushed his way in. He looked at Arthur and whined as though in question.

Merlin stood up. "Lancelot is up here. He'll be okay with some time and rest."

The dog went over and plopped his head on the mattress, looking forlorn.

Merlin leaped over Lancelot to walk onto the nightstand. "You can help keep him warm," he told the canine. "But be gentle!"

The dog yipped and jumped onto the bed, promptly lying down beside Lancelot on his unwounded side. Arthur wrinkled his nose at the animal being on his bed. But given the errand he had to make, he supposed he didn't begrudge Lancelot the extra protective bodies.

Arthur got to his feet and headed for the door. "Stay here and watch Lancelot," he told Sir Leon.

The knight bowed stiffly. Arthur cast one last look at everyone and then left to see his father.

He found him in the east wing's great hall, a pacing, snarling mass of fury. Arthur took a breath and tried to keep his voice steady. "Father."

Uther whirled toward him, eyes flashing. "Arthur. Are you well?"

He sounded concerned, but Arthur knew it came from fear, not love.

"Gaius set my arm and it will mend," he replied.

Uther nodded, then twisted his face into a snarl. "I knew that servant boy was trouble."

Arthur drew his shoulders back. "I started the snowball fight, not Lancelot. I tripped. It was an accident. Punishing Lancelot for it was unwarranted. As was leaving him to die in the dungeon."

"Death isn't fitting for the wretch," Uther sneered.

Arthur took another rallying breath. "I removed Lancelot from the dungeon and brought him back to my chambers."

"You did what?" Uther raged.

"He's my friend."

It was apparently the wrong thing to say, because Uther's eyes blazed with choler.

"That boy is not your friend! He is nothing more than a servant!"

"But he is my servant to do with as I wish!"

Uther's cheeks puffed puce. "You dare defy me?"

"Look around, Father, you are king of nothing!" Arthur shouted back "Statues and shadows. Your kingdom is built on wind-up toys and that's all it will ever be!"

Uther reared back with a raging bellow. "Get out of my sight!"

Arthur turned and bolted as his father continued to roar, the sound of breaking furniture echoing on Arthur's heels. His heart was racing as he ran out of the east wing and back to slightly safer territory.

He kicked himself for losing his temper like that; he knew better. Yet, a part of him felt empowered for having spoken his mind and stood up for his principles.

Taking a steadying breath, Arthur forced himself to calm and then returned to the only beings in this accursed place that actually cared for him.