Two hours later, Tristan strained his ears when he became aware of the sounds of horse hooves on the soft ground underneath the trees. "Arthur… someone is approaching…" The scout stood up and drew his sword. Arthur stayed seated on the ground, Lancelot's head in his lap.
Tristan lifted his sword and stepped towards the path to find out if the riders were Woads or his fellow knights. Four horses approached fast and it was only when they were close by that Tristan could distinguish the men from the horses in the faint moonlight that fell through the leaves of the trees. Instantly he recognized Gawain's long hair. The scout stepped out of the shadows of the trees and onto the path almost startling Gawain's horse.
"Tristan!" Gawain halted his stallion immediately, as did Galahad who was riding right behind him.
Tristan watched as the other two horses were also brought to a stop by their riders. Tristan felt relieved when he saw that one of the other riders was Merlin. The other one he didn't recognize, although he was obviously a Woad as well.
"Where is Lancelot? Arthur?" Galahad looked around, his voice conveying his worries.
"Through here," Tristan answered simply, signaling to the foursome to follow him.
Gawain jumped off his horse, and took the stallion by its reins, quickly following the scout deeper into the woods. "Tristan… What happened?" he whispered, not certain if he wanted to hear the scout's answer.
"Lancelot's too weak to travel. We had to stop." Tristan answered. He looked across and met Gawain's gaze. "It doesn't look good, Gawain. I'm not sure if anything Merlin does will make a difference."
"Gods…" Gawain hardly had time to respond before they reached Arthur and Lancelot. One look at Lancelot told Gawain that Tristan's statement was completely true. "Arthur… How is he?" Quickly the blond Sarmatian knelt down next to the Roman.
"His heart is beating only weakly…" The fear in his voice was visible in Arthur's face as well. The Roman looked up as Merlin appeared in front of them.
Without saying a word, the Woad leader knelt down next to Lancelot and began to examine him. He unwrapped Tristan's bandages which were soaked with blood already and inspected the wound. When he spoke up, it was in his native tongue and directed at the Woad that had accompanied him. Without questioning, the man turned to their horses and brought over the saddle bag. Merlin pulled out a small flask and removed its cap, before he turned to address Arthur. "He is very weak. We need to bring down the fever and get his strength up so he can help fight the infection. These herbs should help with the fever. You need to carefully pour it into his mouth. Make sure he doesn't choke on it or spills it. I didn't bring more." Merlin stretched out a lean hand to give the flask to Arthur.
Arthur took the flask hesitantly.
Merlin sensed his uncertainty and spoke up once more. "Trust your instincts, Arthur. If you think I would poison him, then don't give it to him. If you believe I'm here to help, then let him drink it."
Without any further indication of hesitation, Arthur put the flask at Lancelot's mouth and trickled the liquid on his swollen lips. It only took a minute to administer the small amount to the Sarmatian.
Merlin redressed Lancelot's wound with fresh bandages. "We need to get him to our camp. I don't think he's strong enough to travel on horseback. If one of your knights comes with me to our camp, I'll send him back with a horse and wagon." Merlin stood without waiting for Arthur's answer, walking towards his horse and his companion.
The Roman commander briefly looked at Gawain, the question in his eyes obvious. Gawain nodded in agreement and rose to his feet. As soon as Gawain had mounted his white horse, Merlin rode off.
Arthur returned his attention to Lancelot when Gawain disappeared out of sight.
"How is he?" Galahad asked, speaking up for the first time since he and Gawain had returned with Merlin.
"Burning…" Arthur answered softly.
Arthur had not even noticed that Tristan had stood up as well until he knelt next to him and Lancelot once more. He dampened a cloth with water from his water sack, and used it to cool down Lancelot's face. Soon the cloth felt as hot as Lancelot's forehead and Tristan wetted it once more, repeating his ministrations.
Arthur watched Lancelot closely for any signs that he might be waking up, but none came forwards as he waited with Tristan and Galahad for Gawain to return. He could feel the Sarmatian shivering violently with fever against him.
The Roman didn't need the scout's ears to hear the noise indicating that Gawain was returning with the promised carriage as the wheels seemed to make a sound that reached throughout the entire forest. Gawain jumped down from the horse in front of the wagon. "The camp is not far. Merlin has ordered a tent to be erected so Lancelot will have a shelter. He said he would prepare more herbs against the fever but also against the pain."
Tristan nodded. "Without the fever and without the pain, Lancelot might be able to get a bit stronger. We need to hurry though!"
Arthur easily lifted Lancelot up in his arms, keeping the blanket covering him closely around his frame. A pain-filled groan escaped from the dark knight's lips. Gently, the Roman lowered his best friend onto the wagon, immediately jumping up himself to sit next to Lancelot during their travel to the Woad camp. "Galahad, can you lead my horse?"
Gawain had already mounted the horse pulling the carriage once more, and swiftly kicked the animal in his flanks, spurring him on to a fast step. With a worried look backwards, Gawain checked if the ride wasn't too hard on his fellow knight.
"Just get us there as soon as possible, Gawain!" Arthur said in answer to the unspoken question.
Gawain had been right and the camp was near. Immediately, a Woad came up to them and pointed towards a tent at the edge of the camp. Nodding gratefully, Gawain maneuvered the carriage and its precious cargo to where the man had pointed.
Arthur jumped off the carriage and lifted Lancelot up in his arms once again. Galahad held the flap before the opening of the tent to one side so Arthur could carry the Sarmatian inside. A small oil lamp was burning, hanging from the top of the tent. Gently the Roman laid Lancelot down on the makeshift bed. "Galahad? Can you get his bed roll? We need to keep him warm."
Merlin was the first to appear in the tent, with Gawain on his heels. In the flickering light of the lamp Arthur could easily make out the concerned look that had settled on the older man's face. Merlin gently administered another small amount of liquid to Lancelot from a flask he had brought with him. For a moment he sat back on his heels, before he turned to face Arthur. "I've given him something against the pain. Your knight did a good job in cleaning the wound. I can't do anything more. It's up to him now…"
"Thank you," Arthur said softly.
"I'll be back in the morning. I will make sure that you are provided with some food," Merlin said as he rose to his feet.
Galahad waited until Merlin had stepped out, before he entered with both Lancelot's and Arthur's blankets, handing them to Arthur. The Roman rolled them out and placed both of them over Lancelot's trembling body.
Arthur looked up to see the weary faces of both Gawain and Galahad. "Go to sleep, both of you," he ordered.
"I'm staying," Gawain answered in a tone of voice that said he wouldn't accept any objections.
Arthur didn't object. Instead he nodded gratefully, knowing that he wouldn't be able to find any sleep before he knew that Lancelot would live.
"Tristan said he wanted to go looking for Bors and Dagonet to let them know where we are. I'll go with him," Galahad said while he moved to the opening of the tent. "I wouldn't be able to sleep anyway," he added with a troubled look at the unconscious knight lying on the bed.
"Be careful!" Arthur gave his approval.
"Gods, if only we knew he would pull through," Gawain sighed.
"I know," the Roman answered quietly. He paused briefly. "I thought he was dead already when I saw him tied to that tree. He had his eyes open, but it was like looking into someone else's eyes. Nothing of the normal fire was shining from them. It seemed there was no life in them at all. I thought we were too late," he shuddered. "It still might have been too late."
"I know he's strong, and stubborn…" A small smile crossed Gawain's face. "And usually I'm certain that he's going to recover, but not this time…"
Arthur didn't answer. He didn't have to because Gawain knew that the same thought had been going round and round in his commander's mind. They sat together in silence for awhile. Hardly any noise could be heard from the camp. They listened to Lancelot's shallow breathing, occasionally they could hear how his teeth would clatter together as he shivered with fever. Arthur pulled up the blankets covering Lancelot even further, lines of worry etched in his forehead.
"It's so strange to see him like this, so unnatural," Gawain broke the silence. "He's always so vibrant. I envy the intensity with which he's living, that passion!" He turned his head to look at Arthur. "I know he makes your blood boil when he flies off the handle without thinking first, but that passion, that drive, it makes him live so much more intensely than any of us do. He lets his emotions guide him often, but to be honest, we all need him exactly for that reason. He always knows how to relief any tensions before they build too strong, defuse fights before they become too harsh, with his quick wit, his sarcasm. He might wield those twin blades of his like he never wants to do anything else again, but he also makes us aware that there is more to life than just the fighting in battles we do, that there is more to living than being a knight. He grounds us. He never allows us to become accustomed to the killing we do. He mourns all of our friends with that same intensity. He's a complicated man, but our lives would have gone entirely different without his presence. I don't even want to think about what it would mean to lose him now…"
"I can't imagine either. He's my best friend, my brother, he knows me better than anyone else. And you're right, he grounds me, grounds us. And yes," Arthur continued as he smiled briefly at Gawain, "he does know how to make my blood boil, but he always makes me look at things from another perspective. Being without him would be like missing one half of myself. He just can't die!" Arthur's voice rose as he spit those last words out in an angry tone.
Both men were quickly silenced as a loud groan came from the bed. As one, Gawain and Arthur knelt down next to Lancelot.
"Lancelot? Can you hear me?" Arthur waited for a response, but none came, not even his eyelids fluttered in acknowledgment. Arthur felt his heart sinking into his stomach. He placed his hand on the Sarmatian's forehead, the skin almost sizzling with heat against his. "Oh God, his fever hasn't gone down at all."
–– 8 ––
The next morning, Tristan silently entered the tent. Both Arthur and Gawain looked up in surprise at his silent entrance. "Any change?" the scout asked, trepidation in his voice.
Arthur shook his head. "None, he's burning up with fever," he sighed heavily. "Did you find Bors and Dag?"
"Yes, they are here, still asleep though. Galahad too." He turned to Gawain. "Go catch some sleep as well. I'll stay here."
"Thank you. Warn me if there is any change!" Gawain sounded beyond tired. He rose to his feet slowly and left the tent after one last look at Lancelot.
Tristan knelt down next to Lancelot, and placed the saddle bag he had brought with him at his feet. "I talked with Merlin. We can learn a great deal from him about herbs and fungi and plants. He gave me these," the scout said holding up two identical small flasks, "to give to Lancelot. And we need to change his bandages."
Arthur accepted the two flasks speechlessly and made sure that Lancelot drank all of it, while Tristan further unpacked his bag.
"We need to turn him on his stomach, gently," Tristan instructed.
Together they turned Lancelot around. Arthur immediately felt how his hands became wet with blood when he carefully placed his hands under the Sarmatian's shoulders. Blood had soaked through the bandages and into Lancelot's clothes once more. Arthur saw the fear he was feeling matched in Tristan's eyes when their gazes met briefly. Their fear only increased when Tristan unwrapped the blood red bandages and unveiled the arrow wound. Blood and pus were steadily trickling out, running down Lancelot's side, the skin around the wound red and hot to the touch.
"I'll have to clean it out again," Tristan stated when he had recovered his voice. Gently and focused he went to work, occasionally asking Arthur to hand him things, but otherwise silently.
Arthur watched as his scout cared for his best friend. He tried to keep despair from settling in his heart, but it was becoming harder and harder.
"Merlin gave me this paste of herbs and plants to place over the wound. It should help stop the bleeding and also help with the infection," Tristan explained as he placed a green-brownish mush over the arrow wound, before he bandaged Lancelot up once more. Together the two men rolled Lancelot back on his back.
"If you remove the blood soaked clothes, then I'll go find some dry ones." The scout hastily left the tent, returning only minutes later. When Arthur finished dressing Lancelot in the dry tunic, he noticed how the trembling of Lancelot's body had increased even further. He sat back after covering the Sarmatian up again with the heavy blankets.
"Are you alright?" Tristan asked, studying Arthur's face.
The Roman closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again. "No," he admitted, shaking his head. "If only he would give some indication of waking up, or his fever going down…"
The scout nodded in understanding. "Maybe you should get some sleep. You could sleep right here. I'll watch over him, and you'll probably wake up if anything happens before I could do so." When Arthur started to shake his head, he added, "Do it for Lancelot, Arthur. He is going to need you to pull through this. You can't fall apart simply because of lack of sleep."
Arthur sighed. "You're right. Thank you." He laid himself down, still facing Lancelot, tucking his hands under head. Tristan saw that the moment he closed his eyes, his commander was asleep.
–– 8 ––
Arthur felt like he had slept for a day even though it had only been three hours when Tristan woke him up. "What?" With panic in his voice, the Roman immediately rose and looked towards Lancelot. The Sarmatian was moving around on his bed, fidgeting.
"He's delirious from the fever. He's talking in his dreams, and he has said your name several times already," Tristan explained to Arthur. "I'm not sure, but maybe he'll calm down a little when you're there. He shouldn't be moving around. He can't afford to lose more blood."
Arthur immediately knelt down next to the bed, placing his hand on Lancelot's arm. "Lancelot? I'm here, my brother. Can you hear me?" With his other hand he gauged Lancelot's fever. Before Arthur could say anything, Tristan handed him a wet cloth to place on the Sarmatian's forehead. Arthur continued to talk to Lancelot, and although his knight didn't show any signs of waking up, he did stop moving around. Arthur sent up a silent prayer to his God.
Tristan sat watching the two close friends for awhile, before he interrupted Arthur's thoughts. "Galahad brought food for you," he said while pointing to a plate with bread and a cup filled with some kind of broth. "You should eat something."
Arthur realized that he was indeed hungry and greedily devoured the bread.
"Do you remember an archery competition between Lancelot and myself a couple of years back?" Tristan asked while keeping an eye on Lancelot.
Arthur looked up at his scout. "Yes, I do. Lancelot won… We were all so surprised that he agreed to a competition with you in the first place. He doesn't exactly like losing." Arthur added, remembering that day vividly.
Tristan chuckled. "But he didn't lose, not that day…"
"It took fourteen shots before a decision fell, didn't it? I think everyone in the fortress came to watch!"
The scout nodded. "We set it up. We agreed beforehand that he would win."
Arthur's eyes widened in surprise.
"The others used to put a lot of money on whatever opponent I'd have to beat. They were getting cocky, expecting me never to lose. Lancelot figured it was time to teach them a lesson." A smile graced Tristan's face at the memory. "Lancelot put a lot of money on himself, and we decided to split the winnings between us. We made quite a lot of money that day." He chuckled to himself again.
Arthur looked pensively. "You put up a good show, acting all demoralized," he said slowly. A grin touched his lips. "I should have known something wasn't right. Lancelot didn't walk around the fortress gloating at his win, did he? I guess he wasn't such a good actor…"
"I know," Tristand answered. "I scolded him for it." When he continued, he sounded more serious. "He's a very good archer. He would be one of the best if he'd put his heart behind it."
Arthur turned his attention back to the pale knight. "I don't know how many times he has told me that he's certain that he'll die in battle. I can't believe that he might die like this…"
"I wish I could say that I believe that he'll live… But his time it's up to your and our Gods, it seems." Tristan's voice trembled slightly.
–– 8 ––
Bors had taken over from Tristan early in the afternoon. The bald knight had not taken his eyes off of Lancelot since he sat down next to the bed, as though he would be able to will the pale man to wake up.
"We let them get off too easy," Bors spoke up all of a sudden, almost startling Arthur. "We should have strung them up and left them hanging from that tree that they tied our Lancelot to, like they did with that rabbit! Leave them there to rot and die! Instead it's Lancey who is dying a grueling death…" His voice went down so much that Arthur hardly could make out his next words. "He is dying, isn't he?"
Arthur remained silent for a short while before answering. "Merlin thinks so. Tristan thinks so… I am not going to give up hope until he has exhaled his last breath!" Even if his words sounded determined, Bors didn't miss the fear in his voice.
"I never thought he could die. If one of us was to survive this fifteen year ordeal, then it would have been our Lancey." Bors' voice trailed off as memories washed over him. "But I know he doesn't think lightly about death… He was the first to come to me after Vanora gave birth to a dead baby boy last year. A lot of others tried to comfort us by saying that we already had ten healthy children. Not Lancelot. He gave this kid his own place. Told us to both celebrate his birth and mourn his death. No jokes about being the father that time… Sweet Goddess, I'll miss him if he doesn't make it through this!"
–– 8 ––
Gawain had told Dagonet what to expect but the big knight had still felt a shock going through him when he saw how badly Lancelot looked. His skin was almost translucent and coated with sweat as the fever still raged through his body. Dark circles were visible around his eyes, his cheekbones seemed hollow with exhaustion.
Arthur was sitting next to the bed, a bowl with water and a cloth within his reach. Every once in a while he would wipe away the drops of sweat on Lancelot's face but they would return soon again.
"Has his fever gone down at all?" Dagonet asked.
Arthur shook his head regretfully. "Nothing Merlin has tried to get his fever down has worked so far. The infection had been simmering for too long already when we found him. The only thing that has worked is to stop the bleeding. But…" Arthur sighed, leaving his sentence up in the air.
"But it might be too late already… I know. I heard Tristan and Merlin talking." Dagonet sounded worried, but also doubtful. "But it's too early still to give up on him, Arthur. Merlin doesn't know him. He doesn't know how stubborn and tough Lancelot can be!"
Arthur smiled gratefully at Dagonet, who always had served as everyone's rock in hard times. And this certainly were some of the hardest time they had had to face together. "I'm not about to give up on him. I can't imagine what it would be like to go on without Lancelot…"
They sat together in companionable silence for awhile, both men lost in their own thoughts.
"I'll never forget your face when he walked into the tavern with that pig and he claimed it was for the sacrifice at midnight. And then he proceeded to tell you in detail how the animal would be slaughtered, and you seriously tried to convince him that it was too cruel a way to kill anyone." Amusement shone in Dagonet's quiet eyes as he looked at Arthur. "We all had such a hard time not to howl in laughter and give him away!"
Arthur nodded as he remembered that infamous evening. "It was only when Galahad started snickering out loud that I realized I was being had. If not, we might still be arguing…" he chuckled.
"Or you…" Dagonet fell silent immediately when he heard the sound from the bed like someone was having trouble breathing.
Immediately Arthur sat up on his knees next to bed. He placed a hand on Lancelot's shoulder. "Lancelot? Lancelot?"
Lancelot started to moan in pain in response. His eyes fluttered but did not open.
Tristan knelt down next to Arthur all of a sudden. The Roman had been so focused on his second in command that he had not noticed Tristan's entry. "Merlin gave me more pain medication," the scout said as he proceeded to let Lancelot drink the contents of another small flask. "He should settle down again soon."
Tristan stayed until Lancelot stopped moaning in pain. His breathing evened out as the pain lessened, but remained as shallow as before. Arthur and Dagonet stayed with him throughout the entire night, despair growing inevitably.
–– 8 ––
Early in the morning, Galahad brought plates of food for both Arthur and himself, as Dagonet left to get some sleep.
Arthur looked up at this youngest knight with concern. "You look as though you haven't slept all night."
"I could say the same for you," came the peeved reply.
"Galahad…" Arthur said pleadingly, understanding Galahad's distress.
Galahad sighed in frustration. "Sorry… You're right, I haven't slept all night. I keep thinking about Lancelot." He watched the pale knight on the bed, his fear and worries on his face to be read as an open book. "We've spent so many nights talking about home. He always would know when I was feeling homesick, not only when I just arrived here, but basically up to last week. He would come looking for me, and we would talk until sunrise, share stories. He opened up to me too occasionally. He longs for home maybe even more than I do. But he's torn because he doesn't even know what he'll find when he returns, whether his parents, his brother, his sister, any of them, are still alive. And now all I can think of is that I wish so much for him to live to find out…"
When Galahad's gaze met Arthur's, he saw his own feelings reflected there.
