A/N: Follow up to No. 30


No. 29 Distance

Arthur and his men stayed at the alchemist's fortress longer than they'd hoped to. Many of the prisoners who'd been experimented on couldn't be moved, including Lancelot. Gaius had arrived with supplies, and the men had done their best to make their accommodations suitable for the time they'd be stuck here.

Lancelot had eventually been moved from the dungeon to a room, though the transfer had been hard on him. Every single touch whether it be the gentle hand of a friend or the stone floor beneath his feet felt like blunt strikes. He wasn't actually being hurt; his body didn't blossom with bruises to reflect the intensity of his pain. It was all an effect of the alchemist's potions.

Lancelot lay on a thick pile of blankets, the padding the best effort they could make to ease some of the pain. It helped mildly. Gaius had examined him and the substance he'd been forced to drink and concluded, as with the others, they could only wait and see if it wore off. In the meantime, all they could do was tend their patients and hope for the best.

Though in Lancelot's case, care meant everyone keeping their distance. He was never left alone; his friends took turns sitting with him in case he needed anything. He'd been moved to a private room while many of the other victims were in the main hall. Mostly he lay on the blankets, trying to remain still. But then his side would reach its breaking point of contact and he'd have to roll over, biting back cries of pain as he did so.

Percival watched with a pinched expression, obviously wanting to reach out and help or offer comfort. But that would be torture to Lancelot right now. So he resigned himself to trying to straighten the blankets without touching Lancelot.

Eating and drinking was an ordeal. He could swallow well enough, but pressing the rim of a cup to his lips felt like they would split open. Elyan tried holding it for him just above his mouth and pouring the water in a bit at a time. It worked but was tedious. Lancelot refused to have the same done with food, and he forced himself to pick up the meager portions and place the bites in his mouth himself. The alchemist hadn't fed them during their captivity, so it was just as well he could only eat small amounts at a time.

He didn't know how much time had passed since his rescue. A few days, maybe.

"Is it any better?" Gaius asked one morning.

Lancelot steeled himself and reached out a hand to touch the wall to test it. He recoiled instantly, though he couldn't honestly say whether it was because the pain was still bad or he was just conditioned to expect it to be.

Gaius's mouth turned down. "Well, we'll give it more time."

Lancelot's chest tightened at the hopeless sounding prognosis.

"Maybe I can try magic," Merlin whispered. It was just the three of them at the moment.

"Merlin," Gaius chided.

"We have to do something," he insisted. "He can't live like this."

Lancelot automatically cringed back in fear. "Please don't." He hated how small his voice sounded.

Merlin frowned. "There's no reason to think it would hurt the way physical things do."

Lancelot's heart started fluttering.

"Maybe later," Gaius interjected.

Lancelot nodded. His friend was right: he couldn't live like this. He just needed to reach his next breaking point before he consented to more magical manipulation.


More days passed. Some men recovered. Some died. Some were permanently disfigured. Lancelot didn't feel like he was getting better, but he did start sleeping for longer periods, his rest less disturbed by the slightest movement igniting horrible pain.

Leon was there the next time he woke.

"Hey," he said with a warm smile. "You slept through the night."

Lancelot's brow furrowed. He had?

Leon had breakfast waiting and set the plate on the floor next to Lancelot's pallet. Lancelot sat up and considered it. If he tried to pick up the plate or cup and it hurt too much, he could drop them. But…he also wondered if he was finally getting better. So he tentatively reached for the plate first, gripping the rim and opting to pull it closer. It scraped across the floor, and while the touch on his fingertips felt tingly, there wasn't excruciating pain. He dared to fully pick up the cup next. When he held firm, he raised it to his lips to drink.

When he was done, Leon was smiling at him. "I'll get Gaius."

He returned with Gaius, Merlin, Arthur, and the other knights of his inner circle.

"This is progress," Gaius said encouragingly.

Lancelot nodded, then looked at Arthur. "If you need me to travel—"

Arthur held up a hand to cut him off. "I will not subject you to a journey that is akin to torture, no matter how mild. Our encampment here is secure, if not luxurious. We'll leave when Gaius says we can."


Still, Lancelot started making more of an effort to get up and rebuild his stamina. It was amazing how unbalanced he was after only a couple weeks in chains and then bed rest. His feet still felt tender when walking, but he could manage it.

Until he came to some steps and the impact of stepping down jarred up through his bones. He gasped and pitched forward, but Gwaine lunged out of nowhere to catch him.

"Oy, sorry!" he immediately exclaimed, letting go of Lancelot and backing up.

Lancelot hadn't regained his balance and stumbled into the wall. "No, it's okay," he said. "It- it doesn't hurt as much now."

It was taking his mind a little longer to register that; he was still primed with remembered agony. But he had to admit he was recovering.

"You sure?" Gwaine eyed him carefully.

He nodded and took a deep breath. "Help me back to the room?"

Gwaine cautiously moved closer to take Lancelot's elbow. "You all right?"

Lancelot breathed through imagined pain and past the memories of the alchemist torturing him with minor pinches and the barest needle sticks. Gwaine's hand felt like pressure against Lancelot's arm, but it wasn't the same.

He nodded, and Gwaine accompanied him back to his temporary lodgings.

"Thank you," Lancelot said, easing himself down onto his mound of blankets. Their cushioning finally felt comfortable.

Gwaine's hand lingered for a moment longer before withdrawing.

After that, the distance began to recede. Lancelot continued to get better, and his friends, always there for him, began to add in gentle gestures and tender touches with their care and concern, until Lancelot no longer feared the contact.

Until the touch of another human being didn't elicit a fear response, but one of gratitude and reciprocated love.