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

Chapter 5

Merlin hovered over Lancelot as he writhed on the ground, the staff having attached itself to his hand. He could feel the object's magic throbbing…sucking…and Lancelot was visibly growing weaker, his spasms petering out and his eyes closing to half mast. Merlin had to get the staff away from him, but the thorny vines were hooked so deeply around the back of his hand that there was no way Merlin could cut them off with a blade.

Lancelot's breath hitched, his movements becoming smaller. There was no time. Merlin straightened on his knees and held his hand out toward the staff, blasting it with his magic. Something shrilled in response, and Lancelot arched his back with a horrendous scream. Merlin gritted his teeth and pushed harder. Golden beams of his magic blazed through the thorny shoots until they finally snapped with a loud crack, and the vines swiftly retracted through Lancelot's shredded palm. The staff fell out of his hand to thud on the ground.

Merlin seized Lancelot's chainmail and hauled him a few inches away from the thing, not wanting to touch it himself or risk kicking it too far away in case the Morrigan came back for it.

He rocked back against a dehydrated husk of a tree, cradling Lancelot halfway in his lap. The knight was pale and limp, eyes closed. The grisly tears in his hand were weeping blood all over the place, so Merlin yanked his neckerchief off and wrapped it around the wounds. Then he placed a hand over Lancelot's heart and tried to pour some healing magic into him, pleading to whatever goddess may be listening that it worked.

.o.0.o.

"Will you at least let us tend to your knight's wounds?" Rodan asked.

Arthur shot him an agitated glower, as did Elyan and Gwaine. They didn't trust the Druid leader after his stunt with Merlin, even though they did need the man's help at this point. It was either accept it, or set off on their own to return to Camelot and hope Gaius could do something for the situation.

"Arthur!" Percival suddenly shouted in alarm.

Arthur's heart lurched into his throat as he turned to see what had happened now. Lancelot's hand was a mess of shredded flesh and sinew and was spilling blood all over the blanket. Percival frantically tried to find something to wrap around it and apply pressure.

Gwaine anxiously knelt next to Merlin and checked him over. "No injuries," he reported, then carefully pulled Merlin away from where he'd been slouched over the cot to make room for the others to tend to Lancelot's latest wound.

Leon bent over Lancelot's head, brows knitting together. He then whipped his head up. "He's not breathing."

Arthur stiffened and automatically took a step forward, not that there was anything he could do.

Gwaine whirled on Rodan. "Do something!"

The Druid leader looked at a loss.

Then Lancelot jerked with a sharp inhalation, though he didn't wake and immediately fell still again. Leon leaned down urgently, cupping the side of Lancelot's jaw and angling his ear over his mouth. The rest of the room seemed to all hold their breaths as they waited.

"He's breathing again," Leon finally said. "But his pulse is very faint."

Gwaine jabbed a finger at Rodan. "Send me into this vision quest," he demanded.

Rodan shifted awkwardly. "I'm sorry, I cannot."

"You did with Merlin!"

"Yes…" He flitted his gaze around at them all. "It is extremely dangerous to attempt more than one."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "And knowing that, you still chose to send Merlin instead of one of us. Why?"

"I cannot answer that."

"Can you pull them out?"

Rodan averted his gaze. "No."

Arthur shook his head, his anger ready to explode. "Then what are we doing sticking around here?"

"I know you are worried for your people," Rodan said earnestly. "I am too. I swear, I never imagined this could happen. But all we can do now is trust that your men will find a way out themselves."

"How do we even know Merlin is with Lancelot?" Elyan interjected. "They might be separated, and Lancelot keeps getting brutally attacked!"

Arthur fixed Rodan with a dark glare. "Imagine if our positions were reversed."

Rodan ducked his head again, then said quietly, "Emrys."

"What?"

He lifted his gaze to meet Arthur's. "The Druids are not the only people with a powerful figure watching over them. For you and your kingdom—and your knights—it is Emrys. Your friends are not alone."

Arthur's jaw tightened. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but he didn't find the declaration as reassuring as Rodan thought it should be.

"Please, Your Highness," the man went on. "Let us tend to Sir Lancelot's wounds. The weaker his body is in the physical plane, the harder it will be for his spirit to complete whatever journey it is on."

Arthur exhaled in irritation and looked at Lancelot again. Merlin had been about to tend his wounds when Rodan had interfered and sent him into the dream trance. None of the knights had enough knowledge to take over, especially with injuries as severe as the ones Lancelot now bore.

So Arthur grudgingly nodded, and Rodan lifted the curtain to wave some healers in. The knights backed up to make room in the crowded alcove, though Leon remained steadfastly at Lancelot's head, watching the Druids' every move like a hawk.

Arthur didn't let his guard down either.

.o.0.o.

Merlin's legs cramped as he sat on the hard, cracked ground, clinging to Lancelot and waiting for him to wake up. He'd done all he could with his magic, keeping his friend from slipping away. Or so he hoped. He didn't know what death looked like in this realm, but he could feel a thrum of life still within the knight. It was something.

He flicked yet another look at the blackthorn staff lying mere inches away. It hadn't sprung to life again, thankfully. Still, he wasn't eager to test it by poking the thing. And he didn't really know what they'd do when it was time to pick it up and continue on this quest.

If they even could. Merlin shifted his gaze back to his friend's lax face. He understood the reasoning behind needing Lancelot for this quest, but Merlin was also a little angry that a goddess had put so much responsibility on his shoulders like this, and he couldn't bear to imagine what would have happened if Merlin hadn't come in after him.

Lancelot's eyes finally cracked open, and Merlin shifted slightly, drawing a bleary gaze up to his. "Hey, how are you feeling?"

"Mm, alive?" he replied, voice as tired and threadbare as he looked. "I think…" He shifted his gaze around, going still as it landed on the staff right next to them.

"Easy," Merlin said, keeping his arms around his friend.

Lancelot moaned. "Coventina did warn me not to use it."

"Did she tell you what would happen if you did?"

His eyes slid closed. "No."

Merlin scowled. "That would have just been good manners."

"I wasn't trying to use it," Lancelot mumbled. "It just…happened."

"I saw." And he couldn't blame Lancelot for it, either.

Lancelot's brow furrowed, eyes still closed. "Why not give it to Morrigan? If it'll do the same to her?"

"Well, she's a goddess, so it probably works by feeding off her power. Whereas you're mortal, so instead of being fueled by magic, it…tried to drain your life."

Lancelot grunted. "Too mortal for magic staffs, but just enough not mortal to walk between worlds. Lucky me."

Merlin frowned and finally jostled his friend as he heaved him upright and leaned him against the husk of the tree, which got him to open his eyes again. "How's your hand and arm?"

"They hurt," he wheezed.

Merlin unwound the bandage from his arm first to check those wounds. Fortunately, they hadn't started bleeding again. "Good news, they don't look infected."

"Can you get an infection here?" Lancelot murmured.

"Fair question. Although, they could get infected back in the waking world. Hopefully the others have thought to clean them thoroughly and change the bandages."

Merlin tied the sodden bandage securely again, then moved to his hand, grimacing at the grisly tears. That one was going to be problematic, especially if the wound had manifested on his physical body like the other one. If Merlin didn't do something, Lancelot could lose the use of his hand and never wield a sword again. He wouldn't be a knight anymore.

Lancelot had lolled his gaze toward the shredded flesh and tendons, eyes swimming with anguish. "I can't move my fingers," he whispered.

Merlin took a breath. "Okay, I know I'm not the best at healing spells, so…just hold still and I'm sorry if this hurts."

He cupped Lancelot's injured hand between his own and uttered a spell, pouring every ounce of power and will and pleading into his magic to work fully as intended this one time.

Golden light emanated from his palms and spilled out between his fingers. Lancelot stiffened and sucked in a sharp breath but did his best to hold his arm completely still. Merlin tried to follow the magic into the wounds, directing it to knit back together sundered muscle and sinew, even splintered bone. He cringed as he felt it working, felt the frayed cords wind together and pull taut; he felt Lancelot trembling from the effort.

And then the magic winked out with its completion, and Merlin held his breath as he peeked at the wounds. To his utter relief, the ghastly tears had been reduced to narrow slits on both sides where the vines had punctured skin, but they didn't look as deep or that they went all the way through anymore.

Lancelot stared at his hand for a long moment before he took a steadying breath and flexed his fingers. The digits curled all the way in and back out, though Lancelot hissed at the movement. He thunked his head back against the tree. "Thank you."

Merlin slumped in exhausted relief. He wished he could do that all the time, wished he could do the same to the bite wounds in Lancelot's arm. Maybe he could, if he took the time to try, but they did need to get moving.

He looked at his bloodied neckerchief and decided to just leave it on the ground. He tore a strip off his own tunic—after all, it wasn't real—and wrapped Lancelot's hand in a clean bandage. He then rocked back on his haunches and looked around at the dry creek bed.

"Sure could use some water right about now," he huffed.

"I'm not thirsty," Lancelot murmured, head lolling side to side.

"Hey." Merlin leaned forward again and cupped the sides of his neck. "Stay awake."

Lancelot's eyelids fluttered groggily with effort. Merlin mentally cursed. His magic may have healed the physical damage, but it didn't help the fact that the staff had nearly drained all of Lancelot's strength away.

"I know you're exhausted, but we have to keep moving."

"I know, you're right," Lancelot mumbled, trying to push himself up straighter.

Merlin grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet, then supported his weight when he swayed. "Maybe we should wait a little longer," he second guessed.

Lancelot shook his head. "No, the sooner we complete this quest, the sooner we can leave this place." He paused, brows knitting together. "Though, I don't know how to go about leaving once we're done. Do you think we'll just…wake up?"

"If not, I'll figure that out when the time comes," Merlin promised, wrapping an arm around Lancelot's waist. He hesitated as they stood over the staff, then reached down to pick it up himself. As a powerful warlock, it was probably safer for him to touch it instead of Lancelot.

Leaning against each other, they then hobbled off, following the trickling water between cracks in the hopes that their destination wasn't much further.