A/N: Thank you GuestM Live, Buckhunter, Su26, and SnidgetHex for reviewing!


No. 16 Mind Control | Paralytic Drugs

Lancelot came to groggily, the sensation of swaying making his unsteady stomach churn even more and his head swim. He couldn't open his eyes, and a jolt of terror shot through him when he found he couldn't move at all. The crinkle of leaves under footsteps was the only sound, and the smell of mulch suggested he was in a wooded area, though he had no idea how he'd gotten there. He could feel the taut canvas beneath him, the curve of the stretcher he was being carried on. His breathing sped up and hitched. Where was he? Who was there? Why was it so quiet?

He tried to make his muscles move, but he couldn't even elicit a twitch, so he focused on prizing his eyes open instead. It took monumental effort, but at last he was able to open them halfway. Tree tops loomed overhead, along with the outer edges of surrounding figures walking alongside him. But he couldn't move his neck to get a better look. He couldn't even close his eyes now that they were open. His vocal cords were equally paralyzed, preventing him from asking who these people were or what they wanted. They weren't dressed in Camelot red, that much he could tell.

The stretcher was carried over to a stone altar and placed on top. The figures moved closer to surround Lancelot, and he could see their faces were concealed with long hoods. In unison, they began to chant some kind of incantation. Lancelot's heart pounded against the inside of his rib cage, his pulse racing. The stone beneath him trembled, followed by a resounding crack. Black smoke spewed up from the granite, gathering in a thick brume before rushing down to envelope Lancelot. The noxious fumes pushed their way into his nose, mouth, even his eyes. But he couldn't breathe, couldn't choke. None of his muscles moved at all as the smoke infiltrated his body. A harsh, cold presence smothered his mind, and Lancelot wanted to scream but no sound came out. Then his body sat up of its own accord.

The cloaked figures moved back and bowed to him.

"Where are my enemies?" his voice asked.

Lancelot watched in shocked stupor as though behind a glass window, able to see and hear through his eyes and ears but not in control.

One of the figures straightened and pointed. "Camelot."

Lancelot's body slid off the altar to his feet and immediately started toward the city. The figures did not follow. Just as when he'd been carried in, only able to look straight up, Lancelot was again frozen in his own body, seeing the forest pass by him but not feeling the movement of his legs.

As the city came into view in the distance, Lancelot began to struggle mentally to regain control. He didn't know what this—presence—intended, but it couldn't be good. His efforts appeared futile, however, as nothing happened. The evil entity sniggered and coiled tighter around Lancelot's consciousness. He gasped as his very essence juddered, like a candle battered with a gust of wind that threatened to snuff it out.

They reached the lower town, and Lancelot could only watch helplessly as he marched up the street to the gates and into the citadel. Gwaine was in the courtyard and called out to him.

"Lancelot!"

He didn't pause or acknowledge him, just continued on into the castle with single-minded purpose. Lancelot dreaded what was coming. When the demon directed him to the council chambers, that dread turned to silent screaming.

Inside, Arthur was alone, standing by the window and gazing out in contemplation. He was prone to bouts of melancholy ever since his father had succumbed to grief and madness. Lancelot closed the door behind him and bolted it. Arthur turned at the sound.

"Lancelot," he said, sounding surprised. "What is it?"

The demon didn't speak, simply stood there and drew Lancelot's sword.

Arthur's expression faltered with confusion. "Lancelot?"

Lancelot screamed with everything he had, but the only one who heard it was himself. He could do nothing as his body strode forward with blade raised.

Arthur backpedaled and scrambled to grab his sword from where it sat propped against the king's chair. Lancelot's heart seized as he barely got it out of its sheath in time to parry a strike meant to run him through. The strident screech of steel rang throughout the room as they exchanged blows in quick succession, Lancelot bearing down with relentless accuracy.

"Lancelot!" Arthur shouted, pleaded.

Lancelot swung his sword down and knocked Arthur's leg out from under him, bringing him to the floor. He raised his blade to finish him off, and Lancelot was unable to look away. Then the door burst inward as Gwaine kicked it in, and he and Leon came charging in with swords drawn. Lancelot spun to meet them, their concerted attack at least driving him away from Arthur, who regained his feet and joined the fight again.

The demon's focus was divided, and in that moment, Lancelot felt a twitch in his left hand. He focused all his might on it while the demon wielded the sword with his right. Tingles spread throughout his fingers. Lancelot mustered his strength, holding peripheral control of his limb, then waited for an opening. When the demon grabbed Gwaine's knife with his left hand and divested the knight of it, Lancelot sprang forth and seized control long enough to deftly turn the dagger downward and thrust it into his sternum.

The others froze in shock as Lancelot staggered against the wall. A reverberation rippled through him as the demon struggled with the unexpected blow.

Lancelot managed to move his lips and gasped out, "Run."

Then the entity smothered him and Lancelot was thrown into a senseless void.

When awareness returned, it came with intense pain. Panic lurched through him for a moment before his eyes opened and he realized he was in control again. He shifted to test it, only to ignite a flare of fiery agony in his torso.

"Lancelot!" Merlin's voice exclaimed. "Easy, don't move."

He wanted to argue that he had to move to make sure he was free, but he was too bewildered to form the sentence. He lolled his head to the side, relieved to be able to, and found himself in Gaius's chambers. Merlin was there, along with Arthur, Leon, and Gwaine. Lancelot glanced down at himself. He was shirtless, his chest heavily bandaged. He lifted a hand next. He felt weak and numb in places, but they were his movements.

"How…?" he started to ask but realized it was probably Merlin and he shouldn't give him away.

"The evil spirit left you after you stabbed yourself," Gwaine explained.

Lancelot blinked. "It did?" It'd felt like it had completely taken him over.

Arthur nodded soberly. "How do you feel?"

"Myself again."

"How did this even happen?" Leon asked next.

"I don't know. I woke up in the woods, being carried somewhere. I couldn't move at all. They cast some kind of spell, and then…" He swallowed hard at the suffocating memory.

"Gaius found some residue on your clothes," Merlin put in. "A kind of paralytic drug. We found a spell in one of his books about using it to make a host, er, easier to possess."

Lancelot closed his eyes for a moment as he processed the information.

"We'll find who did this to you," Arthur promised. "You just rest and heal."

Lancelot nodded, exhausted from the ordeal and the sheer relief that the entity hadn't achieved its goal.