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Chapter Text

Part 1 Fallen Star Arc

No. 1: Ceremony

The meadow was alight with color, reflected from a sky awash with blazing comets.

"It's beautiful," Lancelot remarked.

Merlin hummed in agreement. The meteor shower was a sight to behold, but he had another reason for coming out here to watch it. One of the shooting stars zinged down and hit the lake, a tiny nova figure running across the surface before fizzling out. Most of the sacred spirits stayed in the sky, but sometimes they collided with the earth, and it was then that Merlin would step in.

More comet tails lit up the night with so much brightness it looked more like twilight. Merlin could hear their song when they dipped low and close, a tinkle of chimes. Another skimmed across the top of the water and then winked out. The next, however, missed the lake and tumbled through the long grass. Merlin stood.

Lancelot quickly got to his feet next to him. "What is it?"

Merlin didn't answer as he crossed the field. The glow in the grass wasn't dissipating. Lancelot's hurried steps followed. Merlin reached the spot of flattened grass where a glowing blue ball of fire simmered on the ground.

Lancelot let out a breath of awe.

Merlin crouched down and reached out with cupped hands to scoop up the fallen star. Two wide eyes gazed up at him in innocent bewilderment.

"What is it?" Lancelot asked again in a hushed voice.

"A star," Merlin replied, equally softly. "I need to return it."

Lancelot automatically stepped back to give Merlin room to wield his magic.

Holding the star in one palm, Merlin stretched out his other arm and summoned up his power. Shadows rose in a ring around him, apparitions joining hands and dancing in a ceremonial circle, their chants stirring the air. Merlin's sleeves and hair billowed in response. He called upon the ancient craft woven through his blood, gathering the energy required to launch this star back into the heavens where it belonged.

Something slammed into him, throwing him backward through the air. The fallen star fell out of his hand and rolled out of sight, but Merlin couldn't spare a look for it, as a raven's razor beak pecked viciously at his face.

"Merlin!" Lancelot shouted, and there was the faint grating of steel being drawn from a scabbard, but Merlin uttered a spell that blasted the bird away from him. It flapped its wings wildly to right itself, wispy shadows wreathing the tips. Then it dove for him again.

Merlin frantically looked around for the fallen star, determined to protect it. But the raven was attacking him again and not the defenseless orb. That was when Merlin caught a glimpse of a figure dressed in a dark gown striding across the meadow. His heart jolted.

"Lancelot! Get the star!"

Lancelot quickly aborted coming to Merlin's aid and instead whipped his gaze around in search of the star. With the previous magic having died down, the small ball of fire was less bright, but Lancelot managed to find and scoop it up in his hand just as Morgana reached them. The knight swung his blade up to fend her off, but more ravens descended on him, unnatural creatures cloaked in feathers and scales.

Merlin scrambled to his feet and thrust a hand out with an incantation that blasted the monsters away from Lancelot. Morgana's hair billowed with an eerie glow as she mustered her power and sent a shockwave back at him. It slammed into his chest and the oxygen whooshed from his lungs as he was flung to the ground hard. Sparks burst across his vision. Screeches filled the air as the ravens resumed their attack on Lancelot.

Merlin struggled to get up, his chest seized and unable to draw in more breath yet. Lancelot was swinging his sword wildly at the birds while half folding himself over the little star protectively. Talons and beaks tore and rent flesh and fabric. One of the ravens landed on his arm and stabbed its beak deeply into the soft underside of his wrist. With a cry, his sword fell from his grasp. Morgana stormed up to him and wrenched the fallen star away from him. Lancelot frantically tried to grab it back, but the birds attacked his face and he was forced to throw his arms up to shield his eyes lest he lose them.

Morgana's eyes glowed with insatiable hunger as she cupped the fallen star in her hands. Its wide eyes gazed up at her. Then she lifted her hands to her lips.

"No!" Merlin cried, but it was too late. She tipped the tiny ball of fire into her mouth and swallowed it. The light suffused through her for a brief moment before settling. Morgana's eyes flashed blue and then returned to their normal dark color. She had consumed the heart of a star, the most sacrilegious act a wizard could commit.

With that, she spread her arms, sprouted feathers, and took off into the night, now dimmed by the absence of the meteor shower, her mutant ravens following.

Merlin crawled through the grass toward Lancelot, who was down on his knees, blood streaming from numerous lacerations. He grasped at the knight's shoulder, desperately turning him around to see the damage to his face. Thankfully, his eyes hadn't suffered any cuts or gouges. The rest was hurting, for sure. They should get back to the castle and Gaius.

"How bad is what just happened?" Lancelot asked between pained breaths.

Merlin's jaw tightened. "Morgana's increased her power exponentially by consuming the heart of a star. It's not without consequences, though obviously she doesn't care about those."

"So, Camelot's in serious danger?"

Merlin sighed and shrugged. "Isn't it always?"

Lancelot let out a humorless huff, then winced.

Merlin squeezed his arm and started hauling him to his feet. "Come on, let's get you to Gaius."

Morgana had been an enemy of the kingdom for many years. Yes, this development was horrible and a bit terrifying, but Merlin and the knights would do what they always did: defend their king and country.

Chapter Text

No. 2: "You've got a lot of nerve to dredge up all my fears." | Prophecy

A series of concussive whomps shook the air and reverberated through Merlin's rib cage. He ran to the window and threw the curtains open. The night was afire as bombs rained down on the city of Camelot from a fleet of airships. Explosions ripped through buildings, the shockwaves rattling the castle stone. And amidst the falling bombs were waves and waves of winged monsters—wizards who had traded their human forms for that of ravaging weapons. A siren alarm went up from the citadel, and knights poured forth to meet the invaders.

Merlin wanted to run to the city's defense, but he stood transfixed, as though he had no agency. He could only watch as his friends put up a futile fight against such heinous foes. Swords were little match for serrated talons and teeth. Black ichor splattered the cobblestone, followed by red. For every creature a knight struck down, there were five more behind it. Merlin watched in horror as a larger monster slashed at Percival's stomach, eviscerating his torso in one swipe. He dropped to his knees in slow motion, wide eyes and brain slow to catch up with the death blow.

Elyan let out a bellowing cry and decapitated the creature, but several more swooped down and snatched at his cloak and shoulders. He flailed his sword wildly as they began to lift him off the ground. Leon leaped forward to grab his legs, trying to pull him back down. But the monsters flapped their wings harder and rose higher, and Leon eventually lost his grip and fell. Elyan was carried off into the night, disappearing amidst the plumes of smoke choking the air. Gwaine and Lancelot were quickly surrounded, and crimson misted the air as they disappeared beneath a morass of scales.

Merlin screamed, but no sound came out of his mouth. Still, he couldn't move. There was a haze to the scene, and not one made of ash and cinders. The light faded, and with it the vision shifted. Merlin now stood in the great hall. Looking down, he found himself in chains. Several others were gathered around him, similarly chained. There was a grave, heavy silence in the hall. Merlin looked around at the assembled nobles and peasants, every expression filled with either fear, vitriol, or just a hollow emptiness. Leon was there but wouldn't look at him. Merlin turned to the throne where Arthur stood, face set in stone. He opened his mouth to plead for…something, but again, there was no sound. Arthur didn't say a word, just turned his head away. And with that, the pyres were lit and Merlin and the other magic users were dragged out.

Merlin bolted upright in bed, sucking in ragged gasps of air. He was drenched in sweat, his heart hammering painfully inside his rib cage. He scrambled from bed and wrenched the curtain aside. Daylight greeted him, and the thrum of normal activity in the city below. He could see the training yard from his vantage point and the knights sparring, hale and whole. He bowed over the windowsill, chest heaving. It was just a dream. Or was it? Merlin couldn't shake the feeling of dread gripping his heart.

Before Arthur became king, his father, Uther, had instigated the Purge, massacring all magic users in Camelot for fear of their power. Merlin had lived in fear of his secret being found out and being burned at the stake for something he'd been born with. With Uther's passing and Arthur's rule, things had changed. When Merlin's magic was finally revealed, there had been a strain in his relationship with Arthur, but the new and better king had come around, had made Merlin his Court Sorcerer, and accepted magic users as citizens.

But should a neighboring kingdom decide to attack with an army of wizards…that reign of terror could reignite all over again.

Merlin wrapped his arms around himself as a shudder rippled through him. He wasn't prone to prophetic visions, but what if what he'd witnessed was a glimpse of Camelot's future?

A knock sounded at the door, making him jolt. The visitor let himself in without waiting for permission, as the prat was wont to do.

"What are you doing, lazy bones?" Arthur said. "You missed this morning's meeting."

Merlin hastily rubbed at his face, trying to compose himself. "Sorry."

Arthur canted his head at him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You gave me a plain 'sorry' instead of some snarky retort; something's wrong." He swept his gaze around the room, perhaps looking for a clue as to Merlin's laconic mood.

"It's nothing. I didn't sleep well."

Arthur's eyes roved over the disheveled bedding, then back to Merlin. He crossed his arms. "I like to think I'm pretty good at reading you."

Merlin suppressed a sigh. Sometimes it had been easier back when Arthur was a self-absorbed prince. "It was just a bad dream."

Arthur studied him for another moment. "Must have been a really bad one. Do you want to talk about it?" he asked awkwardly. For all of his gained sensitivity, it was still new ground for him sometimes.

Merlin shifted in discomfort. He really didn't…and yet, if he had seen what was to come…

"I dreamed Camelot came under attack. Lots…" He swallowed thickly. "Lots of people died. And as a result…magic was banned again and those who were born with it were put to death." Merlin looked away. "I woke just as the flames started…"

Arthur was quiet for a moment. "That sounds awful."

Merlin hesitated again. "I think it might have been…a vision of the future."

Arthur frowned. "I can't speak to Camelot being attacked—we certainly have enemies. But I will never reinstate the Purge as my father did."

"You may not have a choice. After what I saw…the people, your Council…"

"I am king," Arthur declared. "It is my choice." He took a step closer. "And I swear to you, Merlin, you will never have to fear for your life under my rule. Or that of my son's, should I have any."

Merlin wanted to believe that, but what he'd seen…what he'd felt, had seemed so real.

"Don't you trust me?" Arthur asked, looking a tad hurt by Merlin's silence.

"Of course I trust you…"

"Why is that not enough?"

Merlin's shoulders sagged. "It's just fresh in my mind. You're right, I'll be fine."

Arthur's frown didn't diminish. "Do you really think you saw Camelot's future?"

"I don't know." Merlin gave himself a sharp shake and straightened. "No, you're right, we make our own destinies. Even if the first part comes true—and you're right about that too; Morgana has come after us with armies more than once—we'll fight to defend Camelot as we always have. And the ideals it and you stand for."

Arthur finally smiled and clasped Merlin's shoulder. "Now come on. You're slacking on your duties."

Merlin rolled his eyes with fond exasperation, and finally was able to shake off the last residual disturbance from the dream. The future wasn't set in stone. And even swords weren't ensconced in them permanently when the right King was there to pull it out.

Chapter Text

Part 2 Fallen Star Arc

No. 3: "I look in people's windows, transfixed by rose golden glows."

Lancelot wrapped his cloak tighter about himself, trying to keep out the nippy chill of the higher altitude air. The trains in Cardiff had been delayed for at least a week when one of the tracks had somehow fractured and needed replacing, so Lancelot decided to make his way home to Camelot on foot over the mountains. It'd be faster than waiting, and he had important correspondence from the town's mayor to deliver to Arthur.

But while the first half of his trip had gone without incident, he now found himself being enveloped by a thick, impenetrable fog. Soon he couldn't even see his own feet. He kept trudging along anyway, shuffling his steps in an effort to prevent himself from tripping on invisible hazards. A soft golden glow suffused up ahead, and Lancelot veered toward it. Perhaps some farmer or trapper had a cabin up here he could find shelter in until the fog cleared. It wasn't quite nightfall, as the air wasn't pitch black, but the cloying morass did mute everything in gray. The warm light was a beacon amidst it.

Lancelot finally came to a window where the lamp light was shining from. He reached out to feel for the wall; the fog was still so thick he couldn't even make out the dwelling's dimensions. The surface was rough, but not made of wood like he expected. There must have been a metal panel next to the window. Was it the door? He felt along for a knob, stumbling twice before he finally found a handle. He knocked urgently.

"Hello?" he called when there was no response. He knocked again. There was no answer. He hated to intrude, but he was desperate and certainly couldn't continue muddling his way around in this fog. He was likely to get lost or injure himself. So he grasped the handle and gave it a light push. It gave way and opened inward.

"Hello?" he called again as he cautiously stepped inside. The room was small, with a kitchen counter along the right wall beneath windows blotted out in white fog, a wooden table and bench seats in the middle, and a giant fire pit and hearth taking up the whole left side. The simmering fire was so inviting, Lancelot couldn't help but slip all the way inside, quietly shutting the door behind him and taking a seat on the bench in front of the hearth. He let his cloak fall open as he leaned forward to warm his hands near the flames. It was so soothing, it almost started lulling him into a doze.

But then two eyes inside the fire opened and blinked up at him.

Lancelot jolted in surprise. The fire entity stretched out an arm of flame to grab a nearby log and pull it back to itself, then began munching on the wood, its eyes never leaving Lancelot.

"Um, hello?" he said.

The creature or fire demon didn't respond.

"I'm sorry to intrude," he went on, unsure what to make of this. "I needed shelter."

Still, the being didn't speak. Maybe it wasn't capable of it. Lancelot tried to remember if Merlin had ever told him about a creature like this. The fact that this person had a fire demon in their home suggested they were a magic user of some kind.

Suddenly, the small creature of flame ducked itself under the burning wood as though to hide, and a dark aura filled the room. Shadows extended from the corners, rising up like ghostly sentinels. Lancelot jumped to his feet.

"Well, well, well," a voice crooned. "Isn't this is a surprise. Sir Lancelot, one of my brother's favored knights."

Lancelot stiffened, and his hand went to draw his sword.

Morgana stepped into view from a dark hallway, shadows swishing around her like black flames. Bits of her ebony hair were matted with twiggy strands sticking out, while other curls fell in voluminous cascades down her shoulders. Black and green ink framed her eyes.

Lancelot held his sword point toward her. How could he have stumbled into her lair unawares? He knew the rumors of her moving castle in the wild, said to be a monstrous contraption of metal and gears. But the fog had concealed it, and he'd unwittingly entered the witch's domain. He took a step backward, angling his gaze toward the only exit.

Morgana's mouth curved upward. "Please, stay a bit. It's been a long time since I've had such…delicious company."

Lancelot had no illusions he could take her on. He grabbed a piece of firewood and threw it at her, then lunged for the door. She uttered a spell, and a concussive force slammed into Lancelot's back, flinging him forward to smash into the closed door. He scrambled to right himself, twisting around with his weapon to ward her off as she advanced. He thrust his blade forward, and she craned out of reach. Her eyes flashed green, and gooey black cords took form from the shadows. One lashed around Lancelot's sword and yanked it from his hand. He toppled forward from the force, almost face planting on the floor.

The shadows grew larger, snuffing out the warm lamp light and plunging the room into darkness. Lancelot frantically looked around for options. He surged forward, past Morgana, which briefly caught her off guard. He didn't know what he was doing, but flapping his cloak around his arm to protect it, he thrust it across the fire pit, knocking the fire demon off. Morgana screeched in fury and lunged to snatch it up before it could wink out on the floor. Lancelot took his moment and bolted for the door. He almost pitched forward into a gaping chasm, for the ground outside was racing by; the castle was on the move and he hadn't felt it from the inside, such was its magic. Metal legs climbed up along a steep ridge, grinding gears echoing in the night.

Lancelot clung tightly to the door frame, trying to judge if he could make the leap and land on the ground without rolling off the cliff side. But just as he was about to fling himself to chance, those gooey black tendrils lashed around his arms, legs, and torso and yanked him back inside. The door slammed shut with a resounding clang as he was dragged backward into the black bowels of Morgana's clutches.

Chapter Text

No. 4: Iron Rod
No. 16: Permanent Marker
No. 21: Kneeling

There were many things Arthur had changed when he became King, including accepting common folk into the ranks of knighthood. But while the law could change with a single signature and proclamation, the hearts of men mired in the prejudices of the past did not change so quickly.

Lancelot had just finished polishing a stack of swords and was returning them to the armory when five knights of noble stock cornered him. He stiffened at the derisive expressions on their faces and the hatred in their eyes.

"Excuse me," he said politely and tried to ease past them, but they blocked his path of egress.

"How do you like being a knight?" one of them asked. Boudin.

Lancelot hesitated to give a response, not knowing the intent behind the seemingly innocuous question.

"It was your life's dream, wasn't it?" Boudin pressed.

"Yes," Lancelot replied carefully. "And I am deeply honored and humbled Arthur gave me the chance."

Boudin nodded thoughtfully. "Humbled, yes. But perhaps, I think, not enough."

Two of the knights encroached closer, and Lancelot eyed them warily. He had nowhere to go, however, and they swiftly seized his arms. He struggled against them, to no avail.

"Now, kneel," Boudin instructed.

Lancelot didn't respond, so someone kicked at the backs of his legs, bringing him down. He grunted as his arms were yanked backward painfully and his head shoved forward in a forced bow.

"If you truly desire to be a member of the knighthood, let us solidify it with a mark of commitment."

Lancelot gritted his teeth, guessing the type of thing that was to come. But his resolve faltered when one of the other knights brought over an iron rod, the brand on the end heated to a molten red.

"You wouldn't…" he gasped.

"Are you not proud to bear the seal of Camelot?" Boudin taunted. "You wanted to pledge your life to the knighthood; let everyone see your declaration of fealty."

Lancelot's struggles renewed in earnest, but it was no use. The other two knights not holding his arms moved in and grabbed his head, forcing him still. "Arthur will—"

"Will what?" Boudin spat. "A king cannot rule without the support of his Court. Perhaps he needs to be reminded of that as much as you and the other riff-raff he's allowed into our ranks."

A fist seized Lancelot's hair and jerked his head up and to the side. Boudin moved in with the brand and pressed it into Lancelot's cheek. He screamed as his skin was seared, the acrid stench of burning flesh clogging his nostrils. He bucked and writhed but the four men holding him down were too strong. Lancelot choked as the brand was ripped away, and suddenly he was released to fall face first into the stone floor. There were sounds of commotion, but his senses were completely drowned out by the excruciating pain in his face. When hands grabbed at his shoulders, he wrenched away with a whimper and tried to curl in on himself.

"Easy," a concerned voice said.

Lancelot squinted up through watery vision to see Leon kneeling over him. He blinked and shifted his gaze past him to where Boudin and the other knights were standing in a group.

Leon flashed them a furious look. "Arthur will hear of this."

"Remind him who his friends are," Boudin responded. "Honestly, Leon, how can you side with this rabble?"

"This 'rabble' as you call them have more honor than you ever will."

Leon slipped an arm under Lancelot's and pulled him to his feet, supporting his weight when he wasn't ready to stand. But they needed to get out of here, before the group of five decided to gang up on Leon as well. Leon, at least, held some measure of respect as a fellow noble that gave those men pause.

Lancelot staggered as Leon led him from the armory and through the castle corridors. He didn't even register where they were going until Leon was banging on Gaius's door. Lancelot cringed in humiliation, but he knew he couldn't leave the horrendous burn untended. It wasn't like everyone wasn't going to see it tomorrow…or every day for the rest of his life. Part of him entertained the thought of letting it become infected and septic so his mortification would be short-lived.

But his mind was numb as Leon hauled him over to the patient's cot and Gaius began fussing over him. He barely followed the conversation between the two, and only blinked into focus when Gaius pushed a cup beneath his head.

"Drink all of this. It will dull the pain."

Lancelot didn't realize he was shaking until he tried to take the cup and almost spilled its contents. Leon quickly wrapped his hands around Lancelot's to brace the cup and helped him lift it to his lips. The moment he tried to swallow and stretched the charred flesh of his cheek, he cried out, liquid dribbling back out.

Leon shot a worried look at Gaius. "Is there another method?"

Gaius frowned. "Do your best."

Lancelot bit back a pitiful sound as he tried to swallow without moving his facial muscles. It was excruciating, and his vision was going spotty from the agony. But he downed the concoction, in too much pain to be put off by its rancid taste.

"I'll have to debride the dead tissue once that's taken effect," Gaius told him.

Lancelot couldn't help but shudder. He both desperately wanted to look in a mirror and didn't. He had never been particularly vain, but the scar wasn't a mark of bravery in battle, but one of weakness and subjugation. He wanted to ask Leon not to tell Arthur, but there was no way to avoid it. Not unless Lancelot left Camelot. And…the thought was tempting. It would mean the nobles had won, had driven him out. He was defeated already. And yet…what precedent would that set for the other commoner knights who had followed the trail he'd blazed? Perhaps that was why Boudin had singled him out, for being the one to dare to challenge the norm. Giving up his hard-earned knighthood wouldn't just be about him.

He was starting to feel drowsy and began to sway. Leon braced his shoulders to steady him.

"Lay him down on the opposite side of the wound," Gaius instructed.

Lancelot was pliant as Leon did as told. Gaius pulled a stool over and took a seat in front of him, spread a cloth on the pillow beneath his cheek, then leaned forward with a damp cloth and small razor. Lancelot would have recoiled, but his muscles had turned to jelly. The pain, too, was distant as Gaius vigorously cleaned the burn. Lancelot wished for the relief of oblivion, but it didn't come.

He drifted in a haze of hot and cold. Sometimes he heard muted voices.

"Let me turn them into toads."

A sigh. "Merlin…"

Something sticky was applied to his cheek, then his head was manipulated as a bandage was wrapped around the whole side of his face and under his jaw. He couldn't help the pained mewl that escaped his throat.

"You'll be okay," someone said.

Lancelot begged to differ.

At some point, the drugged mire wore off and Lancelot was in control of his faculties again. The bandage around his head itched, and his fingers twitched toward where the burn still felt as hot as the iron that had branded him. How horrific would his visage be now?

"It will scar," a soft voice spoke up. "But the brand won't be visible. Gaius took care with the cleaning and said the honey combined with some potions will make it minimal."

Lancelot blinked in surprise to find Leon sitting at his bedside, looking remorseful.

"I'm sorry this happened," he said. "Please know not every knight of noble blood feels the way those few do."

Lancelot was leery of responding, simply because he feared moving his mouth and the freshly debrided skin.

"Arthur is dealing with them," Leon went on.

Lancelot's eyes widened.

"They must be held accountable," Leon said with a bite to his tone. "They betrayed the Knight's Code and all that is honorable."

"Th—" Lancelot swallowed hard, his throat too dry to produce sound. He tried to relay his concern through his eyes that he didn't want this causing Arthur trouble. Leon had heard Boudin.

"They have been stripped of their titles and lands," Leon told him. His mouth quirked. "Merlin wanted to curse them into toads, but fortunately Arthur is more reasonable. Although I can't say I wouldn't have supported that decision…"

Lancelot started to shake his head, but even that hurt when the bandage chafed, and his face scrunched up.

"I'll get Gaius."

Lancelot shot a hand up to wave Leon off. He didn't need—or want—the attention right now.

Leon settled back in his seat. "Can I get you anything?" He frowned. "I don't know if Gaius would advise food or drink just yet."

Lancelot waved his hand in a negative; he wasn't ready for that yet. He closed his eyes against an upwelling of grief, hot tears pricking at his eyes.

A hand rested on his arm almost tentatively. "I'm sorry," he said again.

Lancelot took in a shuddering breath but managed the barest nod. This wasn't Leon's fault. Leon had come to his defense. Had apparently stayed with him for Lancelot didn't know how long. He had allies among the knights…friends.

Lancelot turned his arm over so he could clasp Leon's in return. Words may not have been available, but the message was clear. Leon grasped back fervently.

Chapter Text

No. 5: "My panic's at the ceiling, but I'm face down on the carpet."

It was a normal meeting of the Knights of the Round Table…until it wasn't. Leon had been reading some rather dry reports, and more than a few knights had drooping eyelids. Merlin kept taking drinks of his water to fight his temptation to nod off. And then it happened—the loudest, most disruptive hiccough exploded up from Merlin's chest and belted out, echoing throughout the chamber. There was a moment of stunned surprise from the now silenced Leon, and then Gwaine busted out laughing, followed by Elyan and Percival. Even Lancelot was chuckling.

"Sorry," Merlin gushed, ducking his head in embarrassment.

"No, tell us what you really think, Merlin," Arthur said with a humorous smirk.

Merlin felt his cheeks grow hot. He opened his mouth to tell Leon to continue, when another hiccough punched its way out. This time, a swell of magic came with it. Merlin's eyes widened as he felt the air shift, and suddenly everyone was beginning to rise up out of their seats, but not of their own accord, and not with their legs. Everyone's expressions shifted into bewilderment as they became weightless and floated up above the table.

"Merlin!" Arthur exclaimed, no longer amused.

"I'm not doing it on purpose!" He hiccuped again, and the force propelled him backward several feet through the air. "Argh, stop!" he chastised his magic.

But just as he tapped into it to reverse the spell, another hiccup sent a ripple through his power and upended gravity all over again. Everyone was floating higher. Leon smacked his head into the bottom of the chandelier and let out a yelp.

"Sorry, sorry!" Merlin frantically called.

The spell was still carrying the knights upward, and the chandelier clattered as Leon wrestled with it, trying to get untangled. Arthur flailed to try to grab hold of it and anchor himself.

Gwaine started moving his arms and legs as though to swim. "This is kind of fun."

Elyan and Percival exchanged looks as though considering following Gwaine's lead.

Merlin did not think this was fun at all. His magic was completely out of control over something as ridiculous as a bout of hiccups. His heart jackhammered inside his chest as he became more and more agitated trying to rein it in. But the hiccoughs were coming faster and harder now, and he couldn't get a word out between them.

"Merlin, calm down," Lancelot called.

"Seriously, mate, take your time," Gwaine said, apparently enjoying himself doing somersaults in the air.

"Not too much time," Arthur added, clinging to the chandelier as his legs hung suspended above him.

Merlin knocked into the ceiling and finally stopped moving, but he was too high up. In fact, most everyone was too high up, and now a fresh new terror filled him—if he didn't get everyone down gradually, there could be some serious injuries. He clenched his jaw and held his breath, trying to stop the offending hiccoughs. They continued jolting his torso anyway.

"Try putting your head between your legs," Elyan suggested.

"No, stick your thumbs in your ears," Percival said.

"You're supposed to plug your nose."

"Try all of it!" Arthur snapped.

Merlin did. One by one, a combination, and finally all three together. Nothing was working!

"Can someone call Gaius?" Lancelot suggested.

Gwaine tried to "swim" his way down to the door, but it didn't work. He did manage to somersault his way to the wall where he grabbed the chandelier rope and used it to haul himself down to reach the door. He pushed it open and leaned out to call for help. But then he disappeared through the door jamb, and shouts of surprise went up from the corridor.

"Gwaine, get back in here!" Leon commanded.

A few moments later, Gwaine had crawled his way back into the hall. "I thought maybe it was just the room."

Great, it wasn't.

A guard came running in, only to skid to a stop and gape in bewilderment. At least the crazy magic wasn't affecting him. Until Merlin hiccuped another burst of power and the guard began to lift off the floor.

Arthur cursed. "Everyone stay out! And someone get Gaius!"

Another guard was fortunate enough to hear the order at the door and remained on the other side of the threshold.

"What's going on?" an alarmed voice joined the party.

"Gwen, don't come in here!" Arthur shouted.

The queen poked her head in, and her brows rose sharply. Then her expression pinched with barely contained laughter.

"It's not funny," the king groused.

"It's a little funny," she replied. "You should see yourselves."

"I see things just fine."

"Gwen, could you please ask Gaius to hurry?" Lancelot interjected calmly. "Merlin's having trouble."

Her face turned serious and she hurried away.

Merlin tried to do what Gwaine had done and drag himself down from the top of the ceiling, but every hiccough jolted him and he went floating back up to the top. Lancelot let himself float all the way up to reach him and clasped his shoulder.

"We'll fix it."

Merlin's jaw was clenched so tight he couldn't speak, not that the hiccups would let him. He couldn't believe this was happening.

"What's going on?" Gaius's voice echoed from outside, followed by an "Oh my."

"Gaius, we need a cure for hiccups!" Arthur called down.

The Court Physician furrowed his brows. "I can make a tonic…"

"Good luck getting it up here," Elyan commented.

"Just do—hic—something!" Merlin begged.

Gaius hurried off.

Gwen poked her head in again. "Are you all alright?"

Arthur sighed long-sufferingly, anchored upside down at the chandelier. "We're fine."

"Speak for—hic—yourself—hic," Merlin retorted. Man, these hurt.

Lancelot gave his arm a commiserative squeeze.

They all hung weightless in the air as they waited, the only sounds Merlin's pitiful hiccoughs echoing in the chamber. This was humiliating.

Gaius finally returned, but then came the challenge of getting the tonic to Merlin…

Gwaine did some acrobats to get down to reach the door to take the goblet, then carefully let himself float back up toward Merlin. Some of the liquid spilled out—and splashed on Arthur below at the chandelier, but there was enough left for Merlin to chug down, which he did. Then he held his breath, waiting.

Everyone else seemed to be holding their breaths as well. Nothing happened… Merlin carefully opened his mouth and began reciting a spell to gradually bring everyone down. They were halfway there when the acidic nature of the tonic bubbled back up in a loud, echoing belch. Merlin felt the wave of magic erupt with it, and suddenly the weight of gravity was back full force, and everyone fell the rest of the way to the floor with hard thuds and some raucous clangs as furniture was crashed into.

Merlin landed on his chest, smacking his chin on the corner of a rug instead of stone, but he still lay dazed for a moment, groaning from the impact.

"Bloody hell," someone moaned.

Slippered feet hurried across the floor, and Merlin saw through squinty eyes Gwen dropping down next to Arthur.

"Are you all right?" she exclaimed.

"Yeah," Arthur grunted, pushing himself up. He shot Merlin a peeved look.

"I didn't mean to," he huffed out between pained gasps.

Gaius crouched beside him on creaky knees. "That was quite something," he remarked. "Has that ever happened before?"

"No." He pushed himself upright gingerly, still afraid the hiccups would start again. He needed to find a way to prevent that from ever happening again.

"Well, it was an interesting experience," Gwaine put in, rubbing his head as he also got up off the floor.

"Gaius!" Percival's alarmed voice rang out from the other side of the room.

The old physician quickly left Merlin's side, and Merlin jerked straight at the knight's harried tone. Percival was kneeling next to Lancelot, who was sprawled on the floor in a pile of collapsed decorative armor…with a large pool of blood spreading out beside him. Merlin's heart dropped into his stomach. In the fall, Lancelot had crashed into the coat of armor fixture—and the lance it'd been holding.

Continues in No. 11

Chapter Text

Part 3 Fallen Star Arc

No. 6: Caught in a Net
No. 7: Trapped with the Enemy | Pushed Beyond Breaking Point

Lancelot hung suspended in a net of gooey black cords, his arms and legs outstretched along various lines that formed a viscous web in the depths of Morgana's lair. Unlike the front room that had looked like a normal home, this space was as pitch black as liquid darkness. All manner of trinkets, small bottles, and bones lay in piles all around, and there were no solid walls that Lancelot could see, though the space was oppressive in its confinement.

He struggled to take a breath, his diaphragm extended past the point of endurance from his arms being pulled out to the sides. The treacly tendrils stuck to his skin with sticky suction, keeping him completely immobilized.

The spider stepped from her shadows into view, eyes alight with insatiable hunger. Lancelot couldn't suppress a shiver in response. He had no idea how long he had been here, trapped in her clutches, subjected to unspeakable torture. …He had no idea how much more he could take. He knew there was no hope of rescue. No one knew where he was, and even if they could deduce his path through the mountains, Morgana's moving castle would make it impossible to find, let alone lay siege to. He was alone, a plaything for the wicked witch for as long as she deigned to keep him alive.

She raised a hand, and the shadows writhed in response. The sticky cords began to pulse and surge. Lancelot could do nothing as the slimy gunk forced itself down his throat to course through his entire body. He choked and convulsed as it coated every inch of him, without and within. The excess began to pour from his nose, eyes, and ears. He wanted to scream, but his throat was clogged. Tears mixed with the sludge that streamed down his cheeks.

After what seemed endless, the assault ceased, and the gelatinous substance retreated. Lancelot choked on a broken sob.

"Please," he begged.

Morgana stepped closer and reached up to cup his cheek. He shuddered, unable to pull away.

"What will you give me?" she crooned musingly. "To make it stop?"

He blinked at her in confusion.

"Would you swear fealty to me? Renounce Camelot and Arthur and serve me for the rest of your days?"

Lancelot balked, but not from the offer—from the temptation to take it. Anything to make the nightmare stop. But he couldn't. He broke down into sobs.

Morgana tutted in disappointment. "That's what I thought."

She raised her hands again, and Lancelot's pitiful weeping was cut off as the rivulets of inky black plunged into his mouth and suffocated him again. But death did not come. It would not save him. Nothing would.

Chapter Text

Part 4 Fallen Star Arc

No. 8: "Oh horror, oh horror, what did you see?" | Self-Inflicted Injury

Morgana flew through the blackness of the ether above Camelot, shadows whipping around her. As she neared a spire, a burst of blue light forked out like lightning and struck her wing. She banked sharply with a screech and hissed at the wards. Charred feathers left a trail of ash in her wake. She circled around again, but the blasted protective spells sensed her presence and fired more bolts. With a shriek, she veered away and retreated into the darkness.

In the further stretches of the vast inky sky, creatures emerged out of nowhere, talons and fangs slashing at Morgana's flank. She flapped her massive wings and struck one down, but more came. Lost specters trapped and transformed in this ethereal wasteland. With a snarl, she beat her wings harder, aiming for the portal that would return her to her home. But when she tried to change back into her mortal form, the transition wasn't as quick as it should have been, and she crashed through the doorway in a shower of feathers and splintering wood. The damaged door swung shut behind her, keeping the beasts at bay.

She lay in a heap on the floor, black blood bubbling out from various wounds. Her feathers were coated in it. She clenched her muscles and focused on changing back. Bones cracked and twisted, and she let out a garbled cry. It wasn't working. Quills slithered out from the flesh of her face, jagged feathers scratching her eyes. She had no arms or hands to tear them away. Only bowed legs that struggled to support her disproportionate size as she remained stuck in this half transformation.

Claws scrabbled across the wooden floor as she tried to drag herself to the hearth. She slipped and pitched forward, collapsing again. Panic seized her heart and sent it into overdrive. Her grotesque body heaved with labored breaths, pumping more viscid ichor from her myriad wounds. The fireplace was just out of reach.

Two tiny eyes peeked over the edge, wreathed in soft flames. Morgana stretched her neck out, her muscles and joints popping from the strain. Her clawed feet gouged at the wood in an effort to propel herself forward again.

The ball of fire merely gazed back in fright. She snarled at it angrily, and it flinched, then extended an arm of flame to meet her halfway. When it brushed her face, a burst of power surged through her. The feathers exploded off her body in a rush of wings, and her bones and tissues morphed back into proper proportions. Morgana sagged heavily as her body returned to normal.

The tiny fire flickered with a mewl, and she felt its warning against her using such magic lest she not be able to change back in the future. She shot it a vicious glare, and it recoiled behind the firewood. Exhaustion dragged her down, and Morgana shuffled over to a large upholstered chair and sank into it. She was utterly drained, and not just from the difficult transformation, but the attack from Camelot's protective wards. She was determined to find a chink in them one day, to reclaim that kingdom for herself as was her right as Uther's daughter. He had taken so much from her; she would take this as recompense.

But it was a long, weary battle all on her own.

Her thoughts turned to her prisoner, and the corners of her lips curved upward. There was one way to replenish her stores—and her mood.

She pushed herself to her feet and made her way down the darkened hallway to the special room where Sir Lancelot was her favored guest.

Chapter Text

No. 9: Scalding

Even though Elyan was now a Knight of Camelot, and one of the Round Table, being the son of a blacksmith meant he sometimes pitched in when things needed fixing. Especially when it came to the airships. His father had been more traditional in his craft, not branching out into the more mechanical venues (a point of contention between them more than once), and Elyan liked learning the engineering side of metal work.

He was currently wrestling with a wrench and pipe juncture where something had clogged the conduits. If the increased pressure wasn't released and the flow restored, parts could start exploding.

Elyan finally got the bolt to loosen a fraction when a voice echoed through one of the sound pipes from up in the control room of the airship.

"The pressure is reaching critical stage!"

"I've almost got it!" Elyan grunted in response.

"It's too much, get out of there!"

Elyan strained harder. He was so close. The bolt finally spun loose, but without it holding the pipe in place, the copper tube jerked free from the pressure, spewing a geyser of scalding steam right at him. He screamed and flung himself backward to the floor. His throat burned from inhaling some of the heated vapor, along with his nostrils. But his hands and arms had taken the brunt of it, and they were burning. He couldn't manage to look at them, though, for his entire body was shaking uncontrollably.

Harried voices swarmed over him, along with activity. He had trouble following what they were saying, but he was aware of being lifted onto a stretcher. He choked as his seared flesh brushed against rough canvas. He caught glimpses of bright red skin on his fingers as he was carried to the Court Physician's chambers where the stretcher was placed on a patient cot.

"What happened?" Gaius asked.

"A steam pipe exploded."

"I need cool water and cloths."

Elyan wanted to retract his hands and arms away from the healer, but Gaius was surprisingly firm for an old man. He took scissors to Elyan's sleeves, and Elyan lamented the mutilated shirt, even though trying to get it off over his injuries would be worse.

"Soak these in water and drape them over the burns while I mix up something for the pain," Gaius told one of the workers that had helped carry Elyan up to the castle.

Elyan didn't think he needed one of those nasty concoctions; he wasn't feeling much at this point. It was strange being calm with such severe injuries…or maybe this was shock. He jolted as an icy cloth was laid over his arm. At least, it felt like ice.

"Oh, Elyan," a new voice exclaimed.

He grimaced. Why did someone always have to tell his sister right away when he was hurt? She was the Queen of Camelot now and had better things to do than worry over him.

"I's- n-not s'- bad- 's it?" he stuttered.

Gwen shot a fearful look toward Gaius.

"It's treatable," he replied.

Elyan's mouth turned down in a trembling frown, unsure if there was something not being said there.

"Make him drink this," Gaius said to Gwen, handing her a cup.

Elyan huffed indignantly. He was not a child.

"Don't make that face," Gwen chided.

Elyan opened his mouth to make a snippy retort, which she used as an opening to push the rim of the cup to his lips. He gagged on the vile liquid as it sloshed in his mouth and down the back of his throat.

"What were you doing working on a ship without protective gear?" Gwen went on in that parental tone.

"It was just a quick job," he said, maybe more of a pout than statement.

She shook her head in exasperation.

After a little time, Gaius removed the wet cloths and began examining the burns.

"You're lucky," he commented. "It could have been worse."

Elyan wanted to feel vindicated in front of his sister but he wasn't in the mood. Gaius poured water over his scalded skin to clean it, then slathered honey on and wrapped his arms down to his fingers in linen. He wouldn't be able to use his hands at all. His face didn't need as much bandaging, but his neck did. Now the pain draught was beginning to wear off and everything throbbed.

"No duties for at least five days," Gaius told him. "We'll re-evaluate then."

Elyan's shoulders slumped. What was he going to do with himself for five days?

"Maybe next time you'll wear protective gear," Gwen said.

He rolled his eyes. He could see it now: he was going to need her help spoon feeding him.

Elyan sighed. It was only because his sister cared about him.

And maybe he would wear the protective gear next time. But not because she told him to; only to avoid being told to again in the future.

Chapter Text

No. 10: Lips Sewn Shut

Morgana meandered through the stalls of the marketplace, her hood low over her head to conceal her face. It was perhaps a little risky, venturing into populated towns. Wanted posters were plastered in every train station and she was easily recognizable. On the other hand, the larger the population, the less people paid attention to small details and she could buy the supplies she needed.

"Morgana…"

She stiffened at the distant sound of her name and whipped her gaze around, fearing she'd been identified. But the two knights of Camelot in vibrant red were standing at one of the fruit vendors and not even looking her direction.

Gwaine scoffed and took a large bite of an apple. "What threat?" he said around a full mouth. "She's just a hag in exile at this point."

Morgana bristled with fury. She was the rightful queen of Camelot, a sorceress to be reckoned with. Yes, her usurpations of the kingdom had been short-lived—for now. And she currently had few resources at her disposal to launch another assault. But she was not done, not by a long shot. She would teach that obnoxious twit not to run his mouth.

Her lips curved upward, and she began to utter a spell under her breath. A moment later there was a strained sound of distress from the knight, followed by another person's scream, then a second. Swiftly, the crowd of shoppers were panicking and trying to flee the horror that was suddenly amidst them. Grinning, Morgana turned and disappeared through the throng.

Merlin went at an all-out run through the castle, adrenaline pumping through his veins. All he'd heard was that something had happened to Gwaine, something involving magic. The messenger hadn't expanded on that, and there were too many things for Merlin to even hazard a guess. Even so, what he found shocked him beyond dismay.

Elyan and Lancelot had Gwaine between them as they ushered him into the castle. Gwaine's eyes were blown wide in panic and terror, for his mouth was completely gone from his face. A patch of smooth flesh was all that divided his facial hair where his lips were supposed to be.

"What happened?" Merlin exclaimed.

Garbled sounds emitted from Gwaine's throat, unable to go anywhere.

"We were in the marketplace," Lancelot explained. "This came out of nowhere."

"He was bad-mouthing Morgana," Elyan said in a somewhat hushed voice, as though the witch could eavesdrop on them here.

Merlin's mouth tightened.

"Your chambers or Gaius's?" Lancelot asked.

"Gaius."

Merlin might need his help figuring out how to undo a curse like this.

They hurried through the castle to the Court Physician's chambers, getting horrified looks from everyone they passed. Gwaine continued to make distressed noises, getting more and more worked up.

"Calm down before you give yourself a fit," Merlin chastised. He understood this was distressing, but Gwaine wasn't helping himself, and he needed to let Merlin figure this out.

"Good lord," Gaius uttered when he saw them.

"Help me search through curse reversals," Merlin said.

Elyan and Lancelot set Gwaine on the patient cot, then stood there uncertain what to do as Merlin and Gaius got to work.

"Can we help?" Lancelot asked.

Merlin nodded and pointed to one of Gaius's many bookshelves. "Grab that series of tomes there."

Gwaine made another pitiful mewl in his throat.

"We'll find a reversal," Merlin promised.

A few minutes later, Arthur and Leon came barreling into the room. Both of their eyes widened in shock at the sight of Gwaine.

"What happened?" Arthur repeated Merlin's earlier question.

"We're not sure," Lancelot answered and relayed the events leading up to the curse.

Gwaine threw himself down on the cot and flopped an arm over his eyes.

"Are there more books that need looking through?" Leon asked.

"Over here," Gaius said and paused his own research to lead Leon over to the bookshelves.

"We're going to need more workspace," Elyan put in.

Merlin ended up on the floor with Lancelot so the others could use the work table. Even Arthur joined them in their reading, as did Gwen when she heard of the incident. Gwaine tried to help as well, but he was in too much discomfort to sit still. Merlin didn't blame him.

He tried a few basic spell reversals, with no success. Whoever had cast this had been nasty in their intent to make it stick. It certainly had Morgana's flavor to it, though Merlin couldn't imagine the bad luck of Gwaine bad-mouthing her in the market and her happening to be there to hear it.

The hours wore on. Food was brought in for them, and it was then they realized just how serious this situation was. Because it wasn't just the horror of Gwaine losing his mouth and ability to speak—he couldn't eat or drink anything in this state either. If they didn't find a resolution within a few days, he would die of starvation.

Merlin tried more counterspells, but a few of them ended up sparking and singeing Gwaine's beard, which did not help matters. Gwaine was beginning to panic again, and Gwen sat with him to try to keep him calm. Merlin didn't know what to do. He, Gaius, and Lancelot worked through the night poring over magic books. Elyan had fallen asleep over the table and they didn't wake him. Leon and Arthur had other duties that pulled them away, but when they had finished those, they returned to do what they could to help. Time was of the essence.

It took two days to finally find a reversal that worked. In a puff of color and smoke, Gwaine's mouth was restored. He shot his hands up to feel over his lips and jaw, but instead of saying anything, he pushed past Merlin and Gaius and went straight for the leftover breakfast on the table to begin stuffing his face with pastries.

Merlin crossed his arms in amusement. "You're welcome."

Gwaine sagged against the table. "Thnks" he said with a full mouth, crumbs spilling out into his beard.

"Two days of fasting does not give you permission to be a barbarian," Gaius reprimanded.

Gwaine snorted. "I was not fasting; I was being tortured."

"You survived."

Gwaine shot Merlin a look for sympathy.

Merlin went over and clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on, let's go get you a proper breakfast plate."

"Glad someone cares," he mumbled, mouth still full.

"What do you call the effort we all just went through?" Gaius groused.

Merlin shook his head and steered his friend out of Gaius's chambers. The grumpy old physician needed a break after they'd taken over his space for two days.

"And next time let's keep our opinions about wicked witches to ourselves, just to be safe," Merlin advised.

Gwaine huffed but didn't disagree.

Chapter Text

No. 11: Laceration

Continued from No. 5

Merlin scrambled over to where Lancelot lay on the floor, blood rapidly soaking through his tunic and pooling on the stone. A long gash bisected the side of his torso. Gaius was already peeling up the knight's shirt to get a better look, and Merlin swallowed bile at how deep it was. He must have landed straight onto the lance; a few centimeters to the right and it would have impaled him completely.

"Lancelot, I'm so sorry!"

The wounded knight shook his head, though with difficulty. "Not- your- fault," he struggled to get out between haggard breaths.

"Don't talk," Gaius ordered. "I need something to staunch the wound."

Gwen hastily ripped part of her fancy gown and passed the fabric over. Gaius took a moment to fold it into a length that would cover the extent of the laceration, while the other knights gathered around and quickly moved the pieces of crumpled armor out of the way. When Gaius pressed the cloth to Lancelot's stomach, he arched with a cry.

Merlin grimaced. This was his fault. Even if he hadn't meant for his magic to go haywire from a bout of stupid hiccups and upend gravity, Lancelot had still been injured as a result.

"Bring a stretcher!" Arthur ordered some guards at the door. A crowd had gathered at word of the spectacle of the king and his knights floating about the great hall like dandelion fluff.

Lancelot was growing paler by the second, the blood loss significant.

"I need more hands to apply pressure," Gaius said.

Gwen didn't hesitate to add hers, and Lancelot cried out again, though weaker this time.

The stretcher arrived, and Gaius instructed her to keep holding pressure as hard as she could as they transferred Lancelot to it and then began carrying him to Gaius's chambers. All of the knights and Arthur hurried behind them.

Merlin immediately went to get the supplies Gaius would need: water, towels, bandages. Before being appointed Court Sorcerer, Merlin had been the physician's helper, in addition to his duties as Arthur's manservant. He thought the wound too large to suture, but he grabbed the supplies for that as well just to have at the ready.

Lancelot was barely conscious by now, his eyes half lidded and limbs slack, one arm hanging off the edge of the work table he'd been placed on. Gaius ripped his tunic wider to get clear access to the wound. It was still bleeding. The physician's mouth turned down further.

"Guinevere, I shall need your steady hand, if you think you are up for it."

She paled slightly, but then steeled her expression and nodded. Few would dare make such a request of the queen herself, but Gaius had known Gwen since she was a child and a mere maidservant in the castle. Besides that, Guinevere was not the type to sit idly by when help was needed.

"I'll instruct you," Gaius assured her. "Merlin, flush the wound repeatedly as we go. Someone else make sure there is plenty of water at hand."

Elyan and Percival were quick to leap into action. Merlin grabbed a pitcher and stood at the ready as Gwen threaded a needle and bent over Lancelot's exposed torso.

"You'll have to stitch the muscle tissue first before the skin," Gaius said.

Gwen's eyes widened in alarm at that. "I don't…"

"I will show you. Here." He pointed, reaching into the gaping wound to pinch two pieces of sundered muscle together. Gwen swallowed hard and began to sew.

Blood kept welling up and obscuring her view, and Merlin kept rinsing it out each time. He wondered how much Lancelot had lost…if he could afford to keep losing more. Merlin could try a healing spell…but he was hesitant to use his magic so soon after what had happened to cause all this. Gaius could mix up a concoction or two.

The room was filled with taut silence as Gaius and Gwen focused intently on their task. Merlin couldn't count the number of stitches it took to first sew up the muscle one direction, then go back down the entire length to do skin. Lancelot's pallor was so gray by the end, he looked dead, but Leon had taken up position at Lancelot's head and had kept one hand at the pulse point under his jaw the entire time and hadn't reported anything to stop their hearts—or Lancelot's.

When the sutures were finally finished, Gwen rocked back, her fingers crooked from the strain of their tense work.

"Thank you, Gwen," Gaius said.

She gave a tired nod. Arthur came over to draw her from her chair and wrap her in his arms.

Gaius also stood on creaky knees and shuffled over to his counter where he began pulling down various vials and bottles to mix up those concoctions Merlin knew he would. "You can move him to the bed," he instructed whomever.

Percival and Leon carefully lifted Lancelot to transfer him to the cot.

Merlin backed up. Now that the urgency had settled, sheer devastation gripped him.

"Merlin," Arthur's voice broke the quiet. "It wasn't your fault. It was an accident."

The truth didn't make him feel any better.

"Will he be all right?" Elyan asked.

Gaius flicked a neutral look at them. "We've done all we can."

A lump formed in Merlin's throat.

There was a pop and puff of smoke as Gaius finished making his potion, which he then brought over and attempted to get Lancelot to drink. It was difficult with the knight being unconscious. Gaius had to dribble a little in at a time, letting the liquid absorb under his tongue.

"That will replenish the blood loss," he addressed to Arthur. "I can apply honey to the wound to help prevent infection, but the rest we'll see with time."

Arthur nodded sagely. With that, he, Gwen, and the knights began to slowly file out. Lancelot needed rest now. Merlin stayed. He sank into the chair next to the bed and dropped his head into his hands.

Gaius didn't say anything, probably knew nothing would console Merlin until Lancelot pulled through. There may not have been anything Merlin could do to help at this point, but he could find a way to make sure something like that never happened again.

So he grabbed some books of magic off Gaius's shelves, retook his seat at Lancelot's bedside, and pored over everything he could find on preventing hiccups from ever striking him in the future. He was so absorbed in his task that he didn't notice Lancelot had woken hours later and was watching him in a half dozing state. It was only when Gaius walked over to do one of his many checks and commented, "I think you've come through the worst," that Merlin whipped his head up, knowing Gaius wasn't talking to him. Lancelot's bleary eyes gazed back at him.

"Good book?" he rasped with the barest flicker of humor.

Merlin huffed and set the book aside in favor of clasping his friend's hand. "Yes, actually. I will never fall victim to hiccups again."

Lancelot gave a faint nod. "Good. For your sake."

"And for everyone else's."

Lancelot smiled wanly in understanding and gave Merlin's hand a weak squeeze. They'd be all right.

Chapter Text

No. 12: Sacred Place
No. 13: "How dull is it to pause, to make an end, to rust unburnished."

Lancelot's horse lumbered at a leisurely pace through the forest behind the rest of the knights' patrol. It had been a quiet day, with no sign of bandits or trouble in this quadrant of the kingdom.

"Did you see that?" Gwaine suddenly asked.

Lancelot straightened in the saddle. He didn't see anything, but Gwaine veered his steed to the left. The rest of them followed, pushing through a thick bunch of foliage until they entered a small clearing surrounded by large, gnarled trees and giant boulders. There was a pool of water in the center, and all around were various bronze statues. It was a strange sight to find in the forest.

"This looks like an ancient Druid site," Leon commented.

Elyan dismounted and went to examine one of the figures. "Why the statues?" He lifted a hand to touch the eerily detailed bronze.

"Don't," Lancelot said hurriedly. "If this is a Druid site, we shouldn't disturb it, just to be safe."

Elyan drew his hand back and re-mounted his horse.

But Percival had climbed down and gone to the pool to take a drink. As soon as he did, the clear water had somehow stained his hand a ruddy brown, along with his lips.

"Uh, Percival…" Elyan gestured to his own face.

Percival quirked a confused brow and looked at his reflection in the pool, then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. That only smeared the stain further. He grabbed the end of his cloak instead, but no matter how he rubbed at it, the discoloration wouldn't come off.

Lancelot grimaced. He didn't blame Percival for thinking natural water would be safe, but this was a Druid site and the number one rule when dealing with Druid sites was do not touch anything.

"I feel weird," Percival said, then gasped and clutched at his stomach.

Crap.

"Could the water be poisoned?" Gwaine asked, taking a step toward the pool.

"Well don't try it yourself to find out," Leon rejoined.

"Let's get out of here," Lancelot interjected. "Percival should see Gaius."

Percival staggered back to his horse and climbed into the saddle, and they quickly left the area. As they made their way home, Percival bowed lower and lower over his horse's head, grunting and moaning as his stomach cramped worse and worse. They tried to pick up the pace, each of them taking turns urging Percival's horse to keep up since he was barely focusing. The distressed sounds eventually died down, and Lancelot looked over his shoulder to see if whatever was wrong had passed. But Percival was still folded over himself.

Lancelot slowed his horse. "Percival?"

Percival struggled to lift his head, and Lancelot was horrified to see the bronze stain had spread up half his face.

"Mmph," he forced out, lips apparently unable to move.

Lancelot suddenly had a sense of dread at what those statues had been…

"We need to hurry!" he alerted the others.

They looked back, expressions morphing into alarm when they saw this was progressing. They pushed their horses into a canter, but Percival's horse was beginning to lag behind. Finally, it stumbled and went down with a shriek. Percival thunked on the ground like he was made of lead. His horse flailed and struggled to get up, but its rider's fingers were curled around the saddle, holding him down.

The other knights quickly leaped off their horses to rush over. Elyan tried to calm the horse while Lancelot attempted to prize Percival's fingers loose. They were so stiff, but not fully petrified, and Lancelot was able to free the horse. Elyan grabbed the reins and tried to get it up and away before it kicked one of them.

Percival tried to uncurl himself, his limbs moving in slow motion. Lancelot hesitated to touch him, for fear this was contagious, but he shoved that down and grabbed his friend's arm. Percival straightened with effort, but no sooner had he gained his feet did his eyes go opaque and he stopped moving altogether, the bronzification complete.

Lancelot stared in horror. Elyan went around and rapped his knuckles on several spots, each one resounding with a deep metallic reverberation.

"Oh gods," Leon breathed.

"Is he…?" Gwaine started.

"We need to get him to Merlin," Lancelot said staunchly. He would not give up on his friend until the wizard had taken a look and hopefully found a way to reverse this.

But how to get him home? They couldn't put him back on his horse; he was too heavy.

Lancelot grimaced. "We'll have to drag him."

They gathered all their ropes and lashed them securely around the statue, then anchored them to their saddles. It wasn't ideal, having the horses haul a bronze Percival through the forest. Without a cart and wheels, he was bumped and juddered over every rut and root, which made it harder on the horses as well. Lancelot could only hope Percival wasn't feeling this.

But then, if he wasn't…did that mean they'd lost him for good?

Lancelot had never been more relieved to reach the castle, though dragging Percival through the streets and into the courtyard was not a pleasant experience. They decided not to even try getting him into the castle and instead waited for a servant to bring Merlin down.

"What happened?" the Court Sorcerer exclaimed upon arrival.

"He drank some water from what we think was a Druid's site," Leon answered.

Merlin groaned and began to pace in circles around the bronzed Percival. He also gave him a few taps to listen to the sound it made. His mouth thinned.

"I'll have to look through my books."

"Uh, what should we do with him?" Leon asked.

Merlin grimaced. "I guess we…leave him here. It'd be too difficult to get him up to my chambers."

While Lancelot was grateful they wouldn't have to attempt that, he felt bad they had to leave Percival standing in the courtyard like some fixture. So Lancelot stayed by his side while Merlin hurried away to find a reversal and Leon went to report to Arthur. Elyan and Gwaine hung around for a little bit before being drawn off by something or other.

Unfortunately, Merlin had not found a resolution before nightfall, and Lancelot was forced to leave Percival alone and retire to bed. The next day, the first thing Lancelot did was check on his friend, but of course he was the same, and Lancelot had duties to attend to. He couldn't sit by a statue all day long.

Still, every spare moment he had, he made his way around to the courtyard to check on Percival, and when he was still there, he went to check with Merlin on his progress. No luck. Druid curses were tricky, which was why they were best left alone to begin with.

The next day it rained, and Lancelot hated the thought of Percival out in that weather. He debated finding a canvas to drape over him to keep him dry, but was there a point? Lancelot didn't know.

He was surprised to find someone had beaten him to it: erected a small tent over the bronze statue.

Days passed, and Percival was becoming a common sight whenever they passed through the courtyard. Lancelot wondered if it would have been better they haul him upstairs after all. None of them had expected it'd take this long, that Merlin would have to trek up and down every time he found a potential solution to try and then it didn't work. Now it wasn't just a question of whether Percival was still alive under the initial transformation, but could he still be alive after all this time? None of them knew. And they wouldn't give up.

Finally, at long last, one of the spells Merlin cast started doing something. Smoke wafted over Percival like serpentine vapor, turning the bronze green. Lancelot was worried this was making it worse, but then the green morphed into pink flesh, and the solid figure began to shift.

With a ragged gasp, Percival collapsed onto his knees, the last of the bronze coloring fading away.

Lancelot dropped down next to him, followed by Merlin.

"Are you all right?" Lancelot asked worriedly.

Percival blinked in confusion, then started patting himself down. "I- I think so."

"Can you stand?" Merlin asked.

Percival gave a shaky nod, and they helped him to his feet. "What happened?"

"You don't remember?"

"I remember turning…" He blanched, his throat bobbing, and he looked himself over again.

"Yeah, you turned into a statue," Merlin said.

"So you weren't aware throughout it?" Lancelot asked hopefully.

Percival shook his head.

One small favor, then.

"Next time, when they say don't touch anything at a Druid site," Merlin put in, "that means anything."