A/N: As much as I love whumping on Lancelot, I wanted to write a fic with him as an absolute bamf. So here it is. I had a lot of fun with this one: 11 chapters! (Oh, and if you think I can't find a way to still whump a nearly invincible Lancelot…bwahaha just wait.)
I'm borrowing elements from like half a dozen different shows in this. Hope you enjoy the mashup. XD Thanks to 29pieces for beta reading!
Prologue
Lancelot stepped up to the threshold of the Veil. He thought he'd be afraid, but looking back at Merlin, he wasn't afraid to die. He had found his reason.
He regretted the look of horror that dawned in Merlin's eyes when he realized that Lancelot was going to take his place. But that was alright, too, because Lancelot knew Merlin would be okay. He had Arthur; he had his purpose.
So Lancelot turned to face the battering winds of shadow and light and stepped into the void.
There was a brief moment of pain as the cloying atmosphere of the other world instantly smothered him and the Dorocha descended with their screams and icy tendrils. Lancelot had no breath to scream as the realm of the dead devoured him.
And then it all stopped. No sound, no feeling, no light. Only the barest awareness until Lancelot suddenly opened his eyes and found himself looking up at wooden beams across a ceiling with light streaming through an open window. He sat up with a start and looked around in confusion. He was in a small room of cherry wood panels with a doorless entryway looking out at grass and a gravel pathway. The room was empty save for the low bed he was lying on. Lancelot looked down and found he was dressed in loose fitting trousers and shirt. His chainmail was nowhere to be seen.
He patted himself down in confusion, certain that the last thing he'd been aware of was being ripped apart. But he didn't appear dead, though he had no idea where he was or what had happened.
He heard distant sounds emanating from outside and slowly slid off the bed toward the doorway. Squinting against the bright light, he looked out on a small village of single wooden structures set in a valley between massive mountaintops. The dark gray granite glinted in the sky far above, though Lancelot noticed there was no sun to be seen anywhere, and yet it felt like midday.
No one seemed to be around, so he followed the sounds to the outskirts of the village and what looked like a training grounds. Men and women dressed in similar robes as Lancelot were sparring in pairs, some with wooden staffs, some with swords. They moved with a speed and dexterity that left Lancelot rapt in amazement.
An old man with white hair and long beard tied in a single braid stood off to the side, watching the duels. He suddenly held up a hand, and everyone stopped what they were doing, even though he hadn't said a word. Then as one, they all turned to look at Lancelot.
He shifted uncomfortably, not knowing what to do or say.
A woman with long blond hair plaited over one shoulder came forward. "Welcome, Sir Lancelot."
He automatically inclined his head in a gesture of respect. "Where am I? I thought the Veil demanded a sacrifice…"
The woman nodded. "It did, and your sacrifice saved Camelot, not to mention the rest of the world. And because of your selfless, noble act, we rescued you from the clutches of the dead and brought you here." She angled herself slightly to gesture to the others gathered. "A haven for fallen warriors."
Lancelot's brows furrowed. "Then, I am dead?" he checked. He didn't feel like it, not that he was sure what it was supposed to feel like. This wasn't at all what he had expected, though.
She gave him a sage nod. "Yes, but your journey is not over. You have a new destiny set before you now."
Lancelot shifted warily. "And what might that be?"
"A time is coming when the Seals of Fate will be broken and ancient forces will be released upon the earth. And in those final battles that will determine Albion's survival, the world's survival, Arthur Pendragon will need a warrior capable of fighting such forces."
"Isn't that Merlin's destiny?" Lancelot asked.
"Emrys has not yet come into his own. He will need a champion as well."
"And that is to be me?" Lancelot said dubiously. There was no way he could ever be stronger than Merlin.
The woman nodded. "We will teach you the ancient ways of our order, so that when the time comes, you will be ready to be sent back to fight for the future of mankind."
She snapped her fingers, and someone tossed a staff Lancelot's way. He barely caught it in time, his mind awhirl still trying to process everything.
"Your training begins now."
Chapter 1
The sounds of screeching steel and screams of men being slaughtered pealed across the plains of Camlann. Arthur blocked a blow aimed at his neck and pushed back, unbalancing his attacker enough to get a thrust up under the soldier's chainmail. He yanked Excalibur out and spun to meet his next foe. The invading army and the knights of Camelot were evenly matched, making the battle fierce and deadly. But the enemy had something Camelot did not—magic.
Morgana stood on a knoll at the back of the invading army, which was only here on her behalf. Somehow she had convinced them to back her attempt to take Camelot yet again.
Arthur cut down another opponent, only to falter when he caught sight of Morgana beginning to ooze blackness from her very presence. The pitch shadows swept across the ground in multiple directions and snatched up the first men within reach. Which happened to be Morgana's own soldiers, and Arthur was confused for a moment as they screamed in terror and then agony. And then he watched in horror as their skin turned gray and their limbs began to explode from their chainmail into hulking, jointed appendages. Their human screams became high-pitched screeches as their faces swelled up. Webbed wings burst from their backs, and the shadow tendrils released them into the sky, having transformed them into hideous monsters. With shrill shrieks, they came swooping back down to attack Camelot's knights. More screams rent the air as vicious claws plucked men right off the ground and sent them careening across the field. Others slashed through armor like it was butter.
"Arthur!" Leon yelled and tackled him to the ground right before one of those winged monsters came swooping overhead. They both rolled a few feet and then scrambled to get upright again.
Enemy soldiers leaped at them, and they fought back to back as they cut them down. Then Arthur spotted those shadowy tendrils slithering across the ground straight for him at incredible speed. He thought he heard Merlin's voice yelling for him—and what was that idiot doing on the battlefield? But before he could attempt to swing his sword at the amorphous appendages, a beam of light erupted mere feet in front of him, incinerating the shadows and shooting down from the sky like a column of blazing white fire.
It was blinding to look at, and the gusts whipping around it threatened to knock Arthur off his feet. But then it winked out, and in the center was a man, crouched on one knee, palm to the ground. He lifted his head, and Arthur felt all the air whoosh from his lungs. It was Lancelot. But it couldn't possibly be him because Lancelot had died several years ago. And yet the appearance was uncanny, save for some very stark differences. He was dressed in dark brown clothes with a russet and red stitched jerkin. A carmine cape billowed behind him from bronze shoulder guards that matched a set of vambraces and greaves, all of which were etched with intricate whorls and knots.
The figure straightened and drew a sword from the scabbard at his belt, immediately twisting around to face a line of enemy soldiers. He cut down three of them in one fell swing, then spun toward more, thrusting and parrying with such ferocity and speed that his foes fell after a mere two blows. One of the flying monsters shrieked and dove for him, but Lancelot or whoever he was deftly ducked away from its talons while slicing his sword up along its belly. Black ichor splattered the ground as the beast went crashing to the earth.
Arthur could barely remember he was supposed to be fighting too. He could only watch, flabbergasted, as this newcomer spun and pivoted like a whirlwind, seamlessly slaying everything that stood in his path.
Morgana's shadows came flying at him, and he thrust his sword straight into the air. The sky cracked and lightning forked down out of nowhere, striking the blade and setting it alight. Lancelot stabbed the crackling sword into the shadows just as they reached him, and the lightning shot through them, all the way back to Morgana, who shrieked and collapsed. The shadows burst into mist and drifted away, and Lancelot spun toward the next onslaught without so much as blinking an eye. He plowed a path through the enemy army, drawing them away from the knights of Camelot. Fifty to one and yet this unearthly figure didn't miss a beat.
He swung his sword with one hand, then made a series of odd, sharp movements with his left. Thrusting his palm out, he sent a whole line of soldiers toppling to the ground under a massive gust of wind.
Leon came to stand beside Arthur, expression no doubt mirroring his own paled shock as they watched the display. The enemy began to retreat.
Lancelot pulled up short and stabbed his sword into the ground. Then he raised his arms above his head and began to twirl his hands in another strange sequence of gestures. Gusts of wind picked up around him, swirling around and around in increasing intensity like a cyclone forming around him. Then Lancelot dropped and slammed his palm against the earth, and the built up wind exploded outward in a shockwave that flattened the retreating army in one fell swoop.
Then there was silence, and the palpable tension of shock and awe as everyone stared at their would-be savior.
Lancelot, or whoever this being was, picked up his sword and turned. His gaze tracked across the gathered knights until he found Arthur, and then he was moving forward. Arthur reflexively tightened his grip on Excalibur, and he felt Leon shift guardedly beside him.
Lancelot stopped with several feet of distance still between them. Setting the tip of his sword to the earth, he folded his hands over the hilt and knelt, bowing his head. "Sire."
Arthur could only gape in bewilderment.
"Lancelot?" Elyan gasped, pushing his way to the forefront with Gwaine and Percival. "Is that really you?"
Lancelot stood again and nodded, then sheathed his sword. Arthur didn't even know where to start…
Merlin came rushing forward, breathless and face smeared with dirt—so he had been on the battlefield. He gaped at Lancelot with the same measure of shock as the rest of them, but also a hint of hopefulness.
"Lancelot?" he asked, voice nearly cracking. "How…?"
"After I entered the Veil, I was taken to another realm guarded by an ancient order of warriors," Lancelot explained. "They trained me in their ways in preparation to send me back for when Camelot's need was greatest." He shifted his gaze to Arthur again. "I have returned to be your sword and shield in the coming battles that will decide the fate of the world."
Arthur stared back at him for a long moment, then blurted, "You're a sorcerer."
"Not a sorcerer," Lancelot denied. "But I have learned to wield the elements." He met Arthur's gaze with staunch boldness. "You will need magic beside you in the coming days. The forces that you will soon be up against are beyond any you have faced before."
Arthur shook his head. This couldn't be Lancelot. "Are you truly Lancelot or have you come in his form to beguile us?" he accused.
"I know I seem different to you," the former knight replied, and there was a flicker of moroseness for a brief moment. "In many ways I am. But I am still your servant and you are still my king. Magic is older than Camelot, older than the land itself, and it will remain long after all the kingdoms of the earth fall. But I am here to fight for you and your kingdom, to make sure Albion endures."
Lancelot shifted then, suddenly looking self-conscious in a way they all used to know. He undid his sword belt and grasped the sheathed blade in both hands as he took another step forward and bowed his head.
"Accept my sword in service to you, my liege," he said respectfully.
Arthur floundered for a long moment, not knowing what to make of this at all. Lancelot back from the dead. Lancelot with magic. Those things alone had Arthur's internal thoughts screaming at him to execute this heinous imposter. And yet victory today had not been won at his hand, but at Lancelot's. And without his intervention, they would have most certainly lost against Morgana's dark magic.
He still wasn't sure what to make of all this talk of the fate of the world and coming battles, but there would be time for that later. Right now, Arthur chose to follow his heart, which was immeasurably glad to see his old friend again.
He closed the distance and held out his hand to clasp Lancelot's forearm fervently. "Welcome back."
Lancelot smiled and nodded, returning the grip.
Arthur stepped back, but none of the other knights moved closer to embrace their long lost friend. Even Merlin was still regarding him warily. Arthur didn't blame them, and there were more immediate things to see to.
"Make camp," he ordered. "We'll treat the wounded and retrieve our dead."
The knights slowly began to move off. Those who'd known Lancelot from before cast awkward looks at him before using Arthur's orders as an excuse to leave.
"I will secure a perimeter," Lancelot said.
Arthur nodded and watched him stride off, away from everyone else, then exhaled heavily. He noticed Merlin hadn't moved and was also staring after Lancelot, looking torn about something.
"You all right, Merlin?"
Merlin jolted and looked at him. "What? Oh, yeah. You?"
"Fine." Arthur crossed his arms. "So let's talk about how once again you didn't do as you were told…"