A/N: I had planned to start the Lancelot and Lily sequels, but then this fic pushed itself to the head of the line. Premise based on my other fic "Heart and Soul," which doesn't need to be read, just know that Lancelot died in the Veil and Merlin saved him after he came back as a shade.

Chapter 1

It was a remarkable and auspicious event: King Arthur and his knights seated around a Druid supper table. Arthur had reached out to them several months ago to establish peace, and after many talks, they were ready to solidify a treaty between the Druids and Camelot. The fact that Arthur had come to the Druid encampment set in their vast network of caves was a strong gesture in itself. Seated on the ground around a low table, both parties were presented as equals. Merlin even had a place among them, sitting cross-legged on a floor cushion as the Druids hosted the meal, though he was still just a manservant. The Druids knew who he was, of course, but he had made it clear that this peace treaty wasn't about him or Emrys. This was Arthur's goal, and Merlin supported it for the good of everyone, not just himself. It was a major step to uniting all of Albion and bringing back the Old Religion, so that when the time was right, Merlin might finally divulge his secret to Arthur.

But that was not today.

Wine was poured into cups and passed around the table. Everyone held theirs at the ready until the Druid leader, Rodan, raised his goblet in a toast.

"To our new prospects of peace. And may the goddess bless them."

They all lifted their cups, choruses of "Hear, hear" from the knights and "May the goddess bless them" from the Druids rippling around the table. Then they drank. Merlin noted the odd addition of some warm spices to the wine that he'd never tasted before. He'd have to ask later what was in it.

Arthur set his cup down on the low table. "I look forward to building a better future between our two peoples."

Rodan canted his head in acknowledgement. "You are a wiser king than your father."

Arthur's jaw ticked minutely; Uther was always a difficult subject for him. But he maintained his composure and nodded. "I certainly hope to be."

Merlin smiled to himself; he already knew Arthur was that.

There was a clatter as a cup was knocked over, spilling wine across the table. Elyan yelped as Lancelot fell against him, seemingly unconscious. Merlin bolted from his seat and hurried over as Percival grabbed Lancelot's shoulders and eased him back to lie down on the cavern floor.

"What happened?" Merlin asked urgently, reaching out to check his friend's pulse.

"I don't know," Percival answered. "He was fine a minute ago and then just abruptly passed out."

Elyan snatched up the wine cup, eyes widening. He jabbed a finger at the Druids. "Poison!"

Several cups were anxiously slammed back on the table, followed by the wood being bumped as several people surged to their feet.

"We have done no such thing!" Rodan denied. He looked down at Lancelot with a curious expression. "He has been chosen by the goddess."

"Excuse me?" Arthur exclaimed. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Sometimes after drinking the ceremonial wine, someone will slip into a deep sleep and embark on a vision quest to commune with the goddess. It is a great honor."

Merlin frowned at that. "Ceremonial wine," he repeated. "As in you added herbs and spices to assist in achieving this deep sleep?"

"You drugged the wine?" Gwaine demanded angrily, hand going to the hilt of his sword.

"But we all drank of it," Leon put in, holding out a restraining arm toward Gwaine and looking around at everyone. No one else had suddenly fallen asleep on the spot.

"As I said, the goddess chooses who will participate in the vision quest," Rodan repeated. "It is an esteemed honor to be selected for such a profound experience."

"Except you didn't inform us of this beforehand!" Gwaine snapped.

"My men have a right to be angry," Arthur said, tone steady while his eyes blazed with fury. "Endangering them without their knowledge or consent is a gross violation of trust between us."

"Your knight is fine," Rodan assured them. "There is no danger to him in this state."

"Merlin?" Percival asked quietly amidst the growing agitation around them.

"I don't know," he replied. He didn't doubt Rodan's word about what was happening, but he agreed with Gwaine—they should have been warned before drinking the "ceremonial" wine. Though, it was also odd that no one else had been even mildly affected. Magic had to be involved, but who was the agent behind it? The goddess like Rodan said, or someone else? And why exactly would a Druid goddess deign to speak with Lancelot in the middle of a crucial peace agreement?

"We have a chamber available where Sir Lancelot may rest in peace until his vision quest is complete," Rodan offered.

Arthur glanced down at said knight, mouth pressed into a thin line. Merlin gave him a subtle nod that it would be a good idea. Arthur considered it for another brief moment, then nodded gruffly to Rodan in acceptance.

Percival immediately slid his arms beneath Lancelot and hefted him up. Lancelot was completely limp and unresponsive, which did nothing to reassure everyone that he was, in fact, all right.

Rodan beckoned for them to follow, and the rest of the Druids hastily retreated from the dining cavern. Merlin supposed he couldn't blame them; he could feel the instigated hostilities practically vibrating on the air.

Rodan led them all through the passages within the mountain, passing several alcoves before he pulled a curtain aside at an empty one and gestured for them to enter. For essentially a hole in the rock, it was homey enough, with natural rock shelves holding some potted plants and burning candles, and fur rugs on the floor. There was even room for them all, if not a little snug. A cot sat against the wall on the left, which Percival laid Lancelot on.

"I will leave someone just outside should you need anything," Rodan said, then departed.

"Merlin?" Arthur asked the moment he was gone.

Merlin knelt next to Lancelot and checked him over again. "He's not sweating, shivering, or with fever. And his heartbeat is strong." Merlin looked up and shrugged helplessly. "It seems what Rodan said is true, he's just…asleep."

"Except he's not just asleep," Elyan rejoined. "He's in some mystical trance that no one told us could happen."

"It sounds like the Druids don't know when it comes upon someone," Percival said, somehow staying calmer and more diplomatic than the rest of them.

"They still could have told us so we could choose whether to drink the wine or not," Gwaine scowled. "Or not served that 'ceremonial' stuff in the first place."

"What's done is done," Leon put in. "The question is where we go from here." He looked to Arthur.

"Seems to me all we can do for the moment is wait it out," Merlin piped up. "I'll monitor Lancelot closely for any adverse reactions."

Arthur sighed and nodded in agreement. "Alright, we'll wait."

"How long are these vision quests supposed to last?" Leon asked.

They all shared dubious looks; Rodan hadn't said, and Merlin suspected there wasn't really a set time limit on them. Not if it was all at the goddess's will.

Merlin hesitated, then asked Arthur, "Is this going to affect the peace treaty?"

Arthur's jaw looked tight, but he didn't answer right away. "I suppose that depends on what happens when Lancelot wakes up."

Merlin dropped his gaze in disappointment. At least it wasn't a resounding condemnation of the Druids and the peace treaty, but still. Things had been going so well, and now this was just another thing to make Arthur mistrust magic all over again.

Merlin slumped against the wall at the head of the cot and wondered what kind of experience Lancelot was having in this "vision quest."

.o.0.o.

Lancelot found himself standing in a glade surrounded by birch trees. A pale blue hue bathed the air with a soft, ethereal quality. He could tell something was off, and he turned in a slow circle to survey his surroundings, stopping when his eyes landed on a woman standing before him. She had long black hair and was dressed in white robes.

"Welcome, Sir Lancelot," she said.

He regarded her warily. "Where am I?" Last he remembered, he'd been sitting around the Druids' table with Arthur and the other knights. He vaguely recalled beginning to feel lightheaded and heavy, and then the next thing he knew, he was here.

"You are in the realm of dreams," the woman replied. "You drank of the blessed wine, which allowed me to bring you here."

Blessed wine…the Druids' wine. Lancelot cast his gaze around again, but he didn't see anyone else here.

"Why? Who are you?" he asked.

"I am Coventina, goddess of the sacred waters. And you are needed to complete a quest of great importance."

She pulled a staff of black wood from beneath the folds of her white robes. It wasn't very tall, only about four feet long, with a handful of large thorns protruding from various places on the pitch-colored bark.

"This is the Staff of Moirai," she went on. "Made of blackthorn and able to twist fate to the will of its wielder. For ages, it has been guarded in the sacred places, but it is no longer safe even there. There are those among the divining powers who seek to use it to reshape the world and destiny itself. Unless you take it to a place within this realm where the tangible and intangible cross. Once left within the folds of time and space, no one will be able to access it ever again."

Lancelot stared at her blankly, not following that at all. "Why me?" he asked. "Why not take it yourself?"

"The deities are all aware of each other's presence," she replied. "My movements through this realm will be tracked. I also cannot pass into the fold between worlds. None of us can, which is why it is the only place where the staff will be safe from all agents of power, both good and ill, who would seek to undo the fabric of fate. And you, Sir Lancelot, are the only living person who can cross the divide."

Lancelot frowned. "Why?"

"Because you have walked in both worlds. And as the only mortal to have done so, you are the only one who can pass between the spaces."

Lancelot tensed at the reference to the Veil. "Walking" in that world had meant sacrificing himself to close it. And then when Morgana had resurrected him as a shade, it'd left a piece of his soul bound to it. The spirits of that realm had almost reclaimed him, and only Merlin's intervention and a journey to the Lake of Avalon had finally saved him.

He had no desire to walk the paths of such realms again.

"What if I refuse?"

"Then the staff will eventually fall into evil hands, and the world you know will be destroyed," she replied simply.

Lancelot let out a taut breath; he could hardly refuse, then, could he? "Very well," he relented.

Coventina stepped forward and passed the staff to him. "Outside this glade is a stream. Follow it through the dreamscape until you come to where the realm folds in on itself. There you must step through the fold and ensconce the staff within the bubble. Only then will it be out of reach forever."

He held the staff stiffly, giving it a leery look. "Is that all?"

"Be on your guard," she warned. "The dream realm does not follow the same rules that govern the mortal realm. It can be treacherous."

"Of course it can," he muttered.

"Also take care not to use the staff under any circumstance."

Lancelot couldn't think of a circumstance where he would even attempt to wield such a dangerous item, but he nodded in acknowledgement of the warning. When the goddess seemed to have no more instructions for him, he supposed it was time to leave. He was really not comfortable with this mission, but with his own world at stake, he didn't have much of a choice.

So with the staff in hand, Lancelot turned and left the glade to set off on this quest.