A small fire in the corner of the room was casting big shadows on the opposite walls. It gave just enough warmth and light for Arthur to be comfortable while sitting at the small table. He had been hesitant to light the fire, knowing that it would bother Lancelot when he'd wake up, but with the chill settling in his bones, he knew he was going to need some source of warmth. Besides, Lancelot's hands had turned to ice it seemed, and Arthur didn't want the Sarmatian to get any more ill than he already was.
Thankful for the light, Arthur had spread out some maps on the table to study, but his thoughts kept wandering off. He didn't believe for a second that Jols had hit Lancelot, but would it be possible that the missing bucket was what Lancelot had been struck with?
"Arthur?" A soft voice interrupted his thoughts.
Arthur swiftly moved to the bed, sitting down on it. "It's good to see you awake again." Arthur smiled reassuringly at Lancelot.
"Where am I?" Lancelot's eyes darted through the room. He tried to move a little, but decided against it as his head started to throb even worse. He couldn't suppress a groan of pain.
"Easy…" Arthur waited until Lancelot's features relaxed a bit before he answered.
Lancelot's eyes were fixed on Arthur's face and although Arthur could clearly see the agony in them, the haziness seemed to have elevated some.
"You are in the valetudinarium." Arthur didn't offer more of an explanation as he wanted to know what Lancelot remembered – whether he remembered who had attacked him. "How are you feeling?" he asked in a soft voice, considerate of Lancelot's headache.
"Like I've been kicked in the head by a horse, and then ran over by a dozen more. What happened?" Lancelot asked in a weak voice.
"You don't remember." It was more of a statement than a question.
"No…"
Arthur could see that Lancelot was trying to remember but wasn't surprised that he couldn't, considering the severity of his head wound. "You were attacked," Arthur offered. He waited a moment to see if that statement brought back any memories. When it didn't, he continued. "You received a blow to your head. You were unconscious when we found you. You'd lost a lot of blood already."
"Who…" Before he could finish his question, Lancelot suddenly squeezed his eyes shut and brought up his hand which he pressed to his stomach.
"Lancelot?" Arthur asked alarmed.
"I'm going to be sick." Lancelot began to struggle to sit up but the pain in his head sent him straight back onto the bed.
Arthur immediately moved forward to help Lancelot, while also grabbing the clean bowl next to the bed. He supported Lancelot's head while he once more threw up, bringing up what was left in his stomach, and dry heaving in the end.
When he laid Lancelot back down, his second in command was covered in sweat from the exertion.
"Feel better?"
"Yes." Lancelot sighed while keeping his eyes closed. He felt how Arthur stood up from the bed.
When Arthur turned back to the bed with a bowl filled with water and a wet cloth, he saw how Lancelot was following his every move.
"Who did this?" Lancelot's voice was now sounding weak and raspy. He tried to swallow but his throat felt raw and dry.
"Do you think you can sit up to drink some water?" Arthur asked while pointing to the cup standing on the small table.
"My head can't possibly hurt more…"
After retrieving the goblet, Arthur sat down back on the bed and gently placed one of his hands behind Lancelot's back and the other under his left arm. Slowly and carefully he pulled the Sarmatian into his arms, watching all the while for signs of discomfort or pain. Droplets of sweat immediately appeared on Lancelot's brow, but Arthur could feel how he was trying to help to sit up.
"Shit." Lancelot shut his eyes and bowed his head forward. His hand suddenly grabbed onto the front of Arthur's shirt, clutching it tightly, as though he was attempting to steady himself.
"Lancelot?" Arthur felt how most of Lancelot's weight was suddenly on his arms when the Sarmatian sagged forward slowly until his head was resting on Arthur's shoulder. Arthur couldn't read his friend's face with his head bowed down, but he could hear how Lancelot was labouring to breathe, only drawing in gasps of air. "What's wrong? Are you going to be sick again?"
Slowly he could feel Lancelot starting to breathe more calmly against him. "My head is spinning."
"Keep your eyes closed." Arthur shifted on the bed, so he could hold Lancelot up more easily.
A faintly uttered Sarmatian curse reached Arthur's ears. He couldn't help but chuckle. After spending nearly fifteen years with his knights, he had picked up on quite a few words in their native tongue and he knew very well that Lancelot's cursing was extremely rude.
After a few minutes Lancelot lifted his head tiredly. The bruises seemed to be even more pronounced than before as Lancelot had turned another shade paler yet again. "I was wrong."
It took Arthur a moment before he realized that Lancelot was referring to his own comment about his headache not possibly getting worse.
"Do you think you can keep down a bit of water?" Arthur wasn't so sure, noticing the green tinge of Lancelot's skin and the beads of sweat that were now pouring down his knight's face.
"I don't know but I do know that my throat hurts." Lancelot released his grip on Arthur's shirt some, sitting up slightly straighter, although Arthur was still supporting most of his weight.
Slowly Arthur removed his hand from Lancelot's back, ready to return his support immediately, and reached for the goblet with water. He handed it to Lancelot who took it with a trembling hand. Only then did Arthur notice that Lancelot had started to shiver over his whole body. "Are you cold?" he asked.
"No, I just feel exhausted." The tiredness was evident in his voice as well. After a first tentative sip, Lancelot drank more greedily.
"Don't drink too fast!" Arthur urged. "You'll get sick again."
When Lancelot finished the water, he seemed to have spent all his energy. The hand holding the goblet dropped to the bed, with the goblet rolling off of the bed, crashing to the floor with a loud clink.
Lancelot winced in pain. He closed his eyes. Arthur felt him slumping forward against his chest, but was ready for it. Moving his hands to support Lancelot's head, he gently laid him back on the bed again. Leaving his hand on Lancelot's shoulder for a moment. "Get some sleep," he said. "You need to rest."
While opening his eyes slightly, Lancelot turned his head to Arthur carefully. "You haven't answered my question yet."
Arthur should have know better that the stubborn Sarmatian wouldn't let up so easily. He sighed. "We don't know who attacked you." A brief pause. "But I promise you, we will find out!"
The fury in Arthur's eyes didn't escape Lancelot, even when his own eyes slipped close.
–– 8 ––
Arthur's back was hurting from dozing in the chair in a very uncomfortable position. Lancelot had slept fitfully most of the night. Arthur had spent numerous times at the side of the bed cooling down Lancelot's face with a wet cloth, while at other times he had been trembling with cold even under Arthur's two heavy fur blankets. For the past couple of hours though Lancelot seemed to have settled into a more peaceful sleep. Arthur had spent those last hours sleeping as well as the lack of sleep from the past two days caught up with him.
Gawain opened the door slowly and walked in to find both men in the room asleep. The creaking of the door when he closed it was enough to awaken Arthur though. Gawain watched as his commander rubbed his hands over his face and neck, trying to be rid of the sleepiness that hadn't left him when waking up. Sitting down on the chair next to Arthur's, he took in the pale appearance of Lancelot. "How is he?"
Pinning his gaze on Lancelot as well, Arthur shook his head. "Not so good. He woke up for a short time yesterday feeling sick and dizzy. And you can imagine the headache he has…" Arthur paused for a moment. "He doesn't remember the attack."
"You asked him about it?" Gawain sounded surprised. It didn't seem like Lancelot was well enough to be questioned yet.
"You know him… stubborn as always. He asked about it himself, and he wouldn't let it go until I told him what we know. Which is nothing…" Arthur remembered the vehement and passion that had been behind his words yesterday when he'd told Lancelot that they would find his attacker. He felt those emotions simmering within him as he watched how on the bed Lancelot was trying to find a more comfortable position to lie in, as always accompanied by a pain filled groan.
"We found Jols' bucket. Your guess was right. It is indeed what was used to strike Lancelot down. There was blood on the handle and the outside." Arthur could hear the same rage as he felt in Gawain's tone of voice.
Arthur blinked in surprise. "Where did you find it?"
"Tristan found it." Gawain explained. "It was buried at the cemetery. He spotted the upturned earth where neither of us did."
"But it doesn't tell us who did this." Arthur sighed.
"No, it doesn't. We were hoping that Lancelot might remember something…" Gawain looked at Lancelot with undisguised concern. "But I guess not."
Arthur stood up and tried to get the kinks out of his back.
"I can stay with him for awhile," Gawain offered.
Arthur nodded. "Thank you. I could use some time to stretch my legs and grab something to eat." He turned back to Gawain one more time before he left. "Warn me if he wakes up!"
–– 8 ––
It wasn't until after noon that Lancelot finally showed some signs of waking up again. The healer had stopped by in the morning, and had warned both Arthur and Gawain not to expect too much too soon, that it could take weeks before Lancelot would be recovered from the head injury.
For the last few minutes though Lancelot had been shifting a lot, rolling from his back onto his side and back, Arthur had noticed. He sat down on the bed, and placed a hand on the dark haired knight's arm, hoping to calm him down a little by his presence. When skin touched skin, Lancelot's eyes immediately snapped wide open, to be squeezed shut just as quickly when the light of the flames bored into his skull. He moaned in pain.
Soothingly, Arthur moved his hand up and down Lancelot's arm. He could feel the pounding of the other man's heart beneath his hand. The knight was breathing rapidly as well, as though he had been startled awake. When Lancelot opened his eyes slowly this time Arthur saw how they were dulled by pain. Arthur also noted the confusion in the dark eyes.
"Arthur?" Lancelot's voice sounded uncertain.
"Yes, I'm here," Arthur answered quietly. An unsettling feeling was taking residence in the pit of his stomach. "You should not move so much."
The confusion in Lancelot's eyes was only increasing. "Wh… what happened?" He tried to sit up, but Arthur gently put a hand on his chest.
"Please, Lancelot! You really shouldn't be moving around so much!" Arthur pleaded. "How are you feeling?"
"Horrible. What happened to me? Was there a battle? I… I don't remember…" He tried to bring his hand to his head, but he just couldn't summon up the strength to do so, and let his hand drop limply back to the bed. Lancelot saw the flash of grave concern pass over Arthur's strong features before the Roman was able to conceal his worry. "What's wrong?"
"You don't remember." Arthur whispered, mimicking his words of yesterday.
"No… Tell me what happened…" Lancelot's head felt like it was about to implode, but he tried to concentrate on his friend's face despite the agony. But Arthur seemed too preoccupied to answer. "Arthur? Please? Did someone die?"
Arthur could hear the fear in Lancelot's voice and realized that the Sarmatian was misinterpreting his silence. "No, no! There was no battle. No one died! Except… you almost did." Looking up into Lancelot's face he saw the mixed emotions of relief and confusion and pain.
Lancelot shook his head in confusion. Arthur knew that that had been a wrong move even before he saw Lancelot swallowing against the wave of nausea. He grabbed the bowl next to the bed once more and helped Lancelot turn on his side before he started dry heaving. Since he'd only had a cup of water to drink in the last two days, there was nothing left in his stomach to bring up. Panting and exhausted Lancelot laid back on the bed, his face again ghostly pale. "Gods!"
Arthur gave him a rueful smile. "I told you not to move so much."
Lancelot returned Arthur's smile with a mock glare before he closed his eyes. "Tell me what happened."
"There's not much to tell. You are in the valetudinarium. You were attacked and struck on the head. We found you unconscious, lying in a pool of blood. We don't know who did this to you, although we do know that it was an iron bucket that you were hit with." Arthur watched Lancelot to see how he would respond to this, but when Lancelot didn't open his eyes or spoke up, he added as an afterthought, "I told you all this yesterday also."
At that, Lancelot opened his eyes again slowly. "How long ago since the attack then? I don't remember. I don't remember it happening. And I don't remember you telling me before…" A long sigh escaped from his lips.
"Two days. You've woken up three times before."
"When can I leave here?"
The unexpected question took Arthur by surprise. "What?" It took him a few seconds to form a coherent reply. "You can't get up, Lancelot. Don't you understand? You lost a lot of blood, and you took a very nasty blow to your head! You have to stay in bed for awhile."
"I'd much prefer my own bed."
The argument ended before it started as Arthur's answer was cut off when Lancelot yawned and his eyes slowly started to close. Sleep overtook the knight immediately as he felt too weak to fight it off.
Arthur sat down on the chair next to the bed again, allowing his fear and worry for Lancelot to run free now that his friend was asleep.