Lancelot heard voices talking softly. He kept his eyes closed as not to warn his capturers that he was awake. He listened for a while without hearing the words. Slowly he started to recognized the voices. Arthur's. Dagonet's. He felt like a hand gripped his heart and squeezed. He couldn't stop the panic rolling through him. He hadn't thought that the Woads would be able or even try to capture any of the others, but he clearly distinguished both Arthur's and Dagonet's voices. He felt like he couldn't breathe, like his lungs weren't taking in any air. His back was on fire.

"Lancelot! Lancelot!" Arthur gripped both of Lancelot's shoulders and shook him gently, trying not to hurt him any further, but with the realization that he had to wake up the Sarmatian.

Suddenly Lancelot's eyes snapped open and Arthur immediately noted the fear in them. "Lancelot… Calm down!" Arthur wasn't certain what was going on. He had been talking with Dagonet when all of a sudden Lancelot's breathing had all but stopped.

Arthur watched how Lancelot gulped in air, how he tried to get his breathing under control again. Slowly Lancelot's eyelids started to slide shut again. "Lancelot!" Arthur urged once more.

It took a lot of Lancelot's strength to open his eyes once more.

"What's wrong, Lancelot? We can't help if you don't tell us what is wrong," Arthur spoke softly, trying to reassure his friend.

Lancelot was breathing heavily, moans of pain escaping with every exhalation. His eyes darted from Arthur to Dagonet to the oil lamp and back to Arthur. "Woads…" The Sarmatian merely whispered the word. "You, Dag… they got you also…"

Surprise registered on Arthur's face at Lancelot's words. "No. Lancelot, no! We are not captives. You are free. We freed you. We found you. You are safe!"

Dark feverish eyes pierced into Arthur's eyes as to will him to say the truth.

"Do you trust me, Lancelot? Do you trust Dag?" Arthur waited briefly until he saw Lancelot nodding slightly. "Then trust me when I say that you're safe, that we are all safe…"

Lancelot heard Arthur's words and knew that he would never lie to him. He tried to calm his racing heart, his rapid breathing. He tried to inhale slowly, deeply. He needed air, fresh air. He was suffocating. He tried to push himself up. He felt Arthur's hands on his shoulders, his soft but urgent voice telling him not to move, but it was too late and he was attacked by a weaving agony enveloping his back, his entire body.

Arthur felt the body under his hands go limp and Lancelot's eyes rolled to the back of his head as the pain spiraled out of control.

Dagonet cursed out loud as Arthur buried his head in his own hands.

–– 8 ––

The night had been calm. Lancelot had slept seemingly peaceful. It was Arthur who had only slept fitfully.

The Roman described to Tristan what had occurred early on in the past night as both men ate their breakfast. The scout sighed. "He's been through a lot, Arthur. He will need time to deal with all, and I don't think that that time has come already. Each time he wakes up he is in a lot of pain, and the fever has not left completely either. I don't think there's much more that we can do than to reassure him that he's safe now. At least not until he gets stronger." He paused thoughtfully before he continued. "Maybe we should explain to him why he was taken captive?" Tristan looked at his commander questioningly.

Arthur nodded, obviously in thought as well.

"Arthur…"

The Roman was on his feet in seconds when he heard the weak voice of his second in command.

"Right here." Arthur knelt down next to the bed and took in Lancelot's appearance and was glad to see that the feverish glow in his eyes seemed to be absent for now. The Roman wondered how much more hollow Lancelot's face could become before it fell apart, the skin showing a ghostly pallor. "How do you feel?"

"I've felt better."

A slight smile graced Arthur's face, even if only briefly. "I can imagine. Do you want something to drink? Maybe some broth? You could use it…"

"Please." Lancelot's voice was so soft that Arthur couldn't make it out, but the nod was clear.

"Arthur," Tristan interrupted quietly. He handed Arthur one of the small flasks with herbal medicine for the pain.

Arthur mixed the herbs with the broth. He gently lifted Lancelot's head and gave him small sips to drink. Lancelot drank slowly at first, but more greedily soon. The Roman recognized the fatigue creeping over the Sarmatian's face, and carefully laid him back down. A heavy sigh escaped from Lancelot's lips, his eyelids fluttering but he managed to keep them open.

"Tell me why we are here," Lancelot's voice was weak, but his tone of voice unmistakably stubborn and determined.

"What do you remember from the days after you were struck down by the arrow?" Arthur asked hesitantly. "Do you know why you were taken captive?"

Lancelot slowly shook his head. "No… I heard them talking sometimes, how they were making sure you were following…There are just pieces of memories. I remember how I woke up lying across a horse. How they pulled out the arrow…" Lancelot shuddered. "Then I woke up again while tied to a tree. I remember how I was lifted on a horse and my feet tied together. They blindfolded me, I couldn't see where we were going. I fell off the horse several times. They kicked me when I did. They took the pendant," his voice hitched in his throat, as he clutched the charm in his hand even more tightly. "Someone punched me in my back, and after that everything is one big blur." His eyelids started to flutter again.

Arthur saw how Lancelot was trembling with exhaustion. "Go back to sleep. We can talk later."

"No!"

Arthur studied the Sarmatian in surprise. His answer had been so loaded with distress that the Roman knew he had no choice but to explain further what had transpired.

"Calm down, please, Lancelot." Arthur placed his hand soothingly on Lancelot's arm. Arthur briefly glanced at his scout, who nodded in agreement, knowing what his commander was asking. "Did you see the leader of the group of Woads who captured you?" he continued, uncertain of how to explain the reason of Lancelot's capture to him.

Lancelot nodded, too tired to answer with words. He swallowed heavily, his stomach rolling unsettling.

"Apparently, we killed his son in a battle a couple of weeks ago. He wanted revenge. He didn't go after you specifically, anyone of us would have done for his purpose… which was to inflict as much pain and torture to the one he captured, and to make sure that the rest of us were there when he finally killed you."

Arthur saw how Lancelot paled even further, how he swallowed heavily again. "Are you alright?" he asked alarmed. Immediately he recognized the heaving movement of Lancelot's body, and he quickly helped his knight turn his head to the side as he started throwing up.

Pain assaulted Lancelot from everywhere as his body spasmed while his stomach tried to rid itself of all its contents. He lost his fight against unconsciousness even before the spasms stopped racking his body.

Arthur sat back on his heels and closed his eyes. He didn't know how long he had sat like that when he felt Tristan's hand lightly on his shoulder.

"Go outside, get some fresh air. You need it. You've been in here for too long. Clear your head. I'll clean up in here," the scout suggested.

Arthur rose to his feet speechlessly and walked to the opening of the tent. He turned back to Tristan before he exited. "Thank you…" He paused but still did not leave. "Gawain told me that he had wished for Lancelot to be unconscious throughout most of the ordeal with his capturers… He probably was, and still he was conscious often enough to leave a permanent memory of the torture they inflicted…"

Tristan didn't answer. He had felt shivers going down his spine at Lancelot's recollections as well.

–– 8 ––

"How can you trust them?"

Arthur looked up sharply when he heard Lancelot's voice. He had been unaware of the Sarmatian waking up while he had been talking with Bors. He met Lancelot's gaze which held fatigue and confusion.

Slowly the commander made his way over to the bed and knelt down next to it. He could hear the voices of Woads talking in their native tongue outside of the tent wandering through the camp, and immediately understood what had triggered Lancelot's question.

"Lancelot, you would have died if we hadn't trusted Merlin. He came to us to tell us where we could find you. And then after we found you, still alive, thank God, but only barely, he was the only one who could help us to care for you and give us shelter. He didn't have to tell us where you were, and he didn't have to help us. But he did anyway. Because he didn't agree with the path that the leader of your capturers took." Arthur held a close eye on Lancelot to see how he would respond, not wanting any repeats of that morning's incident.

"What does he want in return?" Lancelot's voice was weak but loaded with distrust.

Arthur shook his head. "I know it's hard on you to be here, but all we wanted, all I wanted, was for you to live!"

The Sarmatian looked at Arthur warily. "You didn't answer the question." He felt numb, numb with exhaustion, numb with pain, numb with uneasiness. He was ready to believe whatever Arthur told him.

"I don't know. He hasn't said. It's not important." Arthur made sure that his voice sounded resolute, but he had to admit that he had asked the question to himself over and over again as well. When Lancelot remained silent, he changed the subject. "Do you want some more broth?"

Lancelot shook his head, remembering all too well how his stomach had responded that morning.

"Come on, Lancey, drink some!" Bors insisted. "The sooner you get better, the sooner we can leave here."

The corners of Arthur's lips curled up briefly at Bors' effective manner to convince Lancelot. "Do you think you can sit up for a bit, with our help?"

Lancelot nodded quietly. He let Bors and Arthur pull him upright ever so slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements. Grateful he drank the salty liquid that soothed his raw throat. He had to fight to keep his eyes open and not give into sleep as exhaustion washed over him.

Arthur felt how Lancelot leaned heavily against his chest, felt how his breathing had sped up in response to the exertion. He wasn't surprised when not much later the Sarmatian fell asleep against him without another word, even before he had finished the last of the broth.

–– 8 ––

A loud long lasting scream woke up everyone in the Woad camp. Blue warriors reached for their weapons. Sarmatian knights reached for their weapons as well.

Gawain was the first to realize where the shocking sound was coming from. "Lancelot!" He sprinted towards the tent, his fellow knights on his heels.

Arthur held his hands firmly on Lancelot's shoulders, forcefully keeping him down on the bed. Galahad was doing the same with his legs. "Lancelot! Can you hear me? Lancelot?" Arthur's tone was soothing but held a tinge of despair as well. "Wake up!"

Finally Lancelot's eyes shot open, locking with Arthur's. Raw emotions oozed out of the dark eyes. "Woads!" the Sarmatian gasped, sweat drops forming on his brow and falling down his face.

"No, Lancelot, you're safe!" Arthur wasn't sure whether or not he was connecting with his closest friend.

"Arthur!"

"Yes. You're safe, Lancelot, you're safe…" Relief flooded the Roman as Lancelot at last acknowledgded his presence. "You have to calm down, or you'll hurt yourself further."

"Woads?" Lancelot's voice was filled with fatigue and bewilderment all of a sudden.

"No, no Woads. Just me and the other knights," Arthur reassured Lancelot once more, aware that Gawain and Tristan had entered the tent, with Bors and Dagonet watching from the opening.

"So tired." Lancelot's eyes closed slowly as he gave in to sleep again.

It took Arthur and his fellow knights a lot longer to settle their nerves, fears and worries and get back to sleep as well.


A/N: Remarks here and there have triggered some of the scenes in the remainder of this story, so thank you for all the wonderful reviews!