A/N: Thank you Su26, Hodophile-Sandhiller, Buckhunter, and GuestM Live for reviewing! I know, I'm so sorry about the cliffhanger. I don't normally do that. It's the only one in this bunch and it's only because I got tired while writing that one and just ended it lol. But I didn't want to leave it totally unfinished so I picked a later prompt that fit as a follow-up. XD
No. 14 DIE A HERO OR LIVE LONG ENOUGH TO BECOME A VILLAIN
Dying the first time was easy. Lancelot had a reason to sacrifice himself. Not just for Camelot and Arthur, but for Merlin. Lancelot died for his friends. He died a hero. Then he was brought back against his will and his soul enslaved, his body commandeered for nefarious purpose. He watched through his own eyes as he betrayed Arthur, enchanted Gwen in order to seduce her. And once the damage had been done, his own hands took his life at Morgana's bidding. He died that second time a villain.
But death did not free him. His soul was still trapped inside the shell of the shade. Until Merlin used his magic to free him before laying his body to rest. His soul, however, did not return to the afterlife. Instead, he found himself adrift in the world, able to see and hear everything but unable to interact with it.
He wandered back to Camelot, traversing its corridors as a ghost. He watched his friends descend into dour moods at Gwen's banishment. He overheard the quiet conversations among the knights and servants, cursing his name. Among his friends, he was not mentioned at all. They had banished him from their hearts as readily as Arthur had banished Gwen from his kingdom. Only Merlin and Gaius knew the truth of what happened, and they did not speak of it either.
Lancelot left to seek out Gwen, to see if she was all right. He found her in a small village that had taken her in, and his heart fractured with guilt over her destitution. Time passed, and Arthur and Gwen were eventually reunited and Arthur made her his wife. Her sins were washed away with his forgiveness, and Camelot welcomed their new queen.
But Lancelot's name remained tarnished. The years and decades and centuries wore on. Everyone and everything he knew disappeared while he stayed stuck in this spectral existence. He lost track of Merlin as the world got larger and yet somehow smaller. He saw what history wrote of him, how he destroyed Camelot by coming between Arthur and Guinevere. He became remembered as the man who brought down a kingdom for love instead of the man who gave his life for it.
He watched the world rise in glory and then come crashing down. And then, at long last, the awaited promise of Arthur's return came to fruition. In Albion's greatest need, the king and his knights rose from the Lake of Avalon and took up their swords—and automatic weapons—to defend the land. Lancelot was not permitted to join them. And so he was forced to watch, again, a specter lost to time and space. Sometimes one of his friends would pause and cant their head his way, as though perhaps they could sense he was there. But they always brushed it off and walked away, cutting Lancelot's heart anew. He didn't think it could hurt so much after all these centuries.
He couldn't bring himself to retreat, though, to find an uninhabited wasteland to roam and not witness the war. He had to stay, had to watch them fight their battles even though he couldn't come to their aid. They were heroes in this apocalyptic world; he was a forgotten villain.
The war waged on, and it seemed there was little hope for victory, or even survival. His friends were hard-pressed on all sides. Even the great Emrys was not the deus ex machina they had hoped. Lancelot's fear, anguish, and frustration grew with each passing day. Until, after he watched a private moment of Merlin weeping in immeasurable despair, all those emotions bubbled over with explosive force. A branch cracked and crashed to the ground. Lancelot stared at it in surprise; he could still feel the vibrations emanating from himself.
He knew urban legend said ghosts could manipulate their energy to interact with physical objects. He'd tried it a few times, to no effect. He also hadn't met any other ghosts to confirm the theory or not. Now, though, now he could channel his tumultuous emotions into actionable manifestations. And so he did. Moved a rock here. Knocked an enemy combatant down there. Lancelot came to his friends' rescue in small, unobtrusive ways. Like Merlin always used to do for them. A small part of Lancelot hoped Merlin would notice all these random falling tree branches and beams and make the connection. But Merlin wasn't in hiding anymore. He stood on a rooftop and blasted the forces of evil with his magic while Arthur and his knights of the Round Table fought on the ground. At least, finally, in his own way, Lancelot could fight alongside them.
The tides began to turn, and after a long, drawn-out war, the heroes won. The world would have to rebuild itself from the ground up, but King Arthur would not be leading them. He and the knights were returning to Avalon now that Albion's time of greatest need was over. And Merlin was going with them.
Lancelot watched morosely from the shore as the waters parted and the Lady of the Lake rose up to escort them back to their resting place. He was to be left behind, again. And this time he would be utterly alone, cursed to walk the shadows for eternity.
But just as Arthur took the first step toward the water, the Lady raised her hand to stay him and looked directly at Lancelot. He was used to being looked through and so he didn't react. But then she started toward him, and the air around him bent and shimmered. The knights gasped, their eyes widening. Merlin's face drained of color.
"Sir Lancelot," the Lady greeted.
"You- you can see me?" he asked, voice cracking.
She gave him a sympathetic look. "Yes."
"What is this?" Arthur spoke up.
"Sir Lancelot has been watching over you this whole time," the Lady explained.
"What?" Merlin blurted. "How? Why? Why- why wasn't he sent back with the others?"
"Why would he be?" Arthur interjected, tone taking on a harsh note.
The Lady of the Lake looked sad. "His soul was lost after Morgana brought him back as a shade."
Merlin's eyes went wide. "But- but I freed it. I know I did!"
"You did," Lancelot quickly assured him. "And I have always been grateful for that, Merlin. To remain bound to that- thing- would have been a fate far worse. I've just been…trapped here instead."
Merlin reeled back in horror. "Oh my god."
"You couldn't have known," Lancelot said, heart clenching at the horrified guilt in his friend's eyes.
"Will someone explain?" Leon spoke up loudly.
And the Lady of the Lake did. Somehow she knew all about what happened with Morgana and the shade, how it wasn't Lancelot's doing, how he had been used and violated. And then how his soul had been unmoored in the world. She even told them how he had learned to help them in battle.
Merlin's brows shot upward as he finally made that connection.
The Lady turned back to Lancelot. "It is fortunate you followed them here, or you would have remained lost. But now you may finally come home where you belong."
Lancelot faltered. The very thing he had wished for, for so long, was now being offered, why did he hesitate? He flicked an uncertain look at Arthur and the knights. His love for them had never faded but he knew they did not bear the same sentiment toward him. Did he really have the right to intrude upon their peace?
"You bloody, self-sacrificing idiot," Merlin suddenly uttered and strode forward. He pulled up short at the last second, then hesitantly reached out to see if he could touch Lancelot. At first, his arm shimmered in its incorporeal state, but then Lancelot felt the touch of magic, and he gradually became solid. Merlin yanked him into a fervent hug. "I'm so sorry."
"It wasn't your fault."
"If I had known…"
Lancelot squeezed back, utterly astounded at being able to feel someone again. "I know."
They drew back, and Lancelot tensed as the other knights came forward next, but they also looked hesitant. Until Arthur held out his arm in offering, and Lancelot clasped it.
"No words can express my gratitude," Arthur began. "Or my regret."
"None of you could have known," Lancelot said quietly, even though the memory of the past still hurt.
"Yes, I could have," Arthur argued. "I knew you. And I am sorry I did not look beyond my own pain at the time. You have been greatly wronged, Lancelot."
He ducked his gaze. He had spent centuries believing this was just punishment; absolution now felt uncomfortable.
Arthur brought his other arm up to clasp Lancelot's with both hands. "Come with us. After all this time, you deserve to find peace, my friend."
Lancelot's eyes welled with hot emotion, the overwhelming promise of relief threatening to make his chest implode.
The other knights moved closer and took turns embracing him, and the sensory overload made him feel like collapsing in their arms.
The Lady of the Lake beckoned, and Merlin and Arthur flanked Lancelot to usher him forward, to usher him home to the final resting place where heroes belonged.
