The Madman #3
Until only Galehaut, his beloved turned enemy, remained.
This was not the fight he'd been expecting.
Tears streamed down his cheeks beneath his helm, but Lancelot stood his ground—and then almost started laughing hysterically when he saw what Galehaut—no, this Imprisoned Knight, for he would believe nothing else—held.
Excalibur. Maleagant had somehow gotten to Excalibur first. He could not wake Merlin without that sword, and he could not get the sword without besting the man he loved most in all the world.
Why was life so cruel.
Pushing his anguish away to face later, Lancelot called up his magic and faced his opponent. His enemy.
The Imprisoned Knight lunged at him, which wasn't surprising at all. Galehaut had always been the direct sort, always the one to make the first move. Lancelot had always loved that about him.
He met the swing with his shield and a blast of water from the lake, sending the Imprisoned Knight back, unable to keep his feet against such an onslaught.
Unfortunately, Galehaut had once possessed fierce powers of his own, the winds of the Distant Isles he had given away for a single night. A single knight.
Water and wind were a dangerous combination. Together he and Galehaut had been invincible, until that tragic day at Camlann.
If Galehaut was aware of himself, if he was trapped inside this monster he was forced to be, he would not want to continue thus. Rallying his strength and will, Lancelot threw himself into the fight with all the strength of his knighthood and all the ferocity of his mother.
He could do this. He was the son of the Lady of the Lake. Son of the Waters. The Black Knight. The White Knight. The Mad Knight. Beloved—
Lancelot closed his eyes against the ache of longing that swept through him.
Beloved of Galehaut. In whose arms he had not been able to die. Whose body he'd had to abandon to find Merlin.
Taken from him again before they could be reunited. It wasn't fucking fair.
Pouring all his rage and anguish out, he threw himself at the Imprisoned Knight. Dangerous, to let his temper out, because that way literally lay madness for him, but he could not attack his beloved with his sanity wholly intact.
Lancelot screamed as he drove the knight back, meeting blow after blow, until his shield arm was numb from the repeated impacts, until his sword arm was on fire from exertion. Almost there, he was almost—
Something grabbed his ankle, causing Lancelot to falter, and then the Imprisoned Knight swung so hard he sent Lancelot flying, slamming into a cluster of boulders.
He hadn't felt this much pain since the day he'd died.
He tore his helmet off and threw up, ignoring how much blood came up as he slowly and painfully dragged himself to his feet.
"You all right?" Martin asked, staring at him wide-eyed. "You must have max sensors."
"My sensors are mid at best," Lancelot gasped out. "This isn't part of the game."
Martin frowned. "What are you talking about? We're in the game. How can it not be the game? You need to log off and go to a hospital, you're capsuled."
"I'm in trouble!" Lancelot bellowed, looking around frantically for his shield as the Imprisoned Knight drew ever closer.
"I'm going to die! I need you! Wake up in that stupid fucking head of yours and help me.
I found the lake, I found the sword, I'm in the fight!
Come to your goddamn senses, Merlin of the Wild. "
Martin gaped at him, but before he could say anything, the Imprisoned Knight had reached them.
Desperate, Lancelot threw himself into the water.
The weight of his armor would carry him down, and he would hopefully have some minutes of respite, a chance to heal some of the damage the Imprisoned Knight had done.
Until the Imprisoned Knight followed him.
No, no, no. Galehaut had never fought in water like this, he'd been terrified of going anywhere near water after his mother had fallen into deep water and drowned, too heavy to swim to the surface.
Being half-giant, Galehaut would suffer the same fate if he fell into deep water, and so he was genuinely terrified of it.
If that fear was still locked way in Galehaut, the Imprisoned Knight gave no sign of it.
He wanted to fight in the water? Fine. Lancelot would remind the Imprisoned Knight why water was always to be feared, and maybe one day, Galehaut would be able to forgive him.
Lancelot swam, calling up his menu as he did so and selecting remove all. Naked save for the basic starting tunic and hose, he called up all the power gifted to him by his mother and the Sacred Waters that had loved him as their own, despite the fact he was not of their blood.
As he reached the bottom of the lake, blue scales with a rainbow sheen caught the last hints of sunlight that could reach this far, and his hair grew out, threaded with kelp and other ornaments from the lake.
His nails turned into claws, and the wide webbing between his fingers and toes would help him move all the faster in the water.
The Imprisoned Knight landed heavily, stirring up silt and clouding the water. Excalibur glowed, in its element the same as Lancelot, as his sword Arondight. They were sisters, the two swords, one gifted to him, one gifted to Arthur.
Lancelot surged forward with all the speed he could muster, slamming into the Imprisoned Knight, knocking him into the silt, stirring up an even larger cloud, obscuring everything.
Drawing his sword, he thrust downward—only for it to be caught in a gauntleted fist, as the other slammed into his stomach again.
Choking, coughing up more blood, Lancelot vanished into the murky silt.
He needed help. But he wouldn't get help until he had the sword. But he needed help to reclaim the sword. When he finally got out of this mess, he was going to scream into his fucking pillow and drink every drop of alcohol he could afford.
Movement. Lancelot jerked back, barely missing the fist that came at him, reeling back until his back struck rocks. He threw his power out, a surge of battering water and shards of ice, satisfaction and misery rushing through him as a cry of pain filled the water.
More ice. More water. Pummeling, pummeling, until everything was so dark and murky from silt he couldn't see his own hand.
He could, however, see a glow. Lancelot lunged for it, wrapping his fist around the blade of Excalibur and kicking up for all he was worth, eyes locked on the surface. Almost there, almost—
He screamed as something grabbed his ankles and twisted, snapping the left one like tinder. Everything hurt. He tried to hold on, but between the fighting, the swimming, the ankle, and whatever the Imprisoned Knight had done to his insides, he wasn't going to be able to finish this fight.
Lancelot struggled feebly anyway, even as the Imprisoned Knight's ice-cold gauntlets closed around his throat and squeezed. "Gale, it's me—" He broke off, blood spilling from his lips as his vision went black.
Everything went quiet. Still. Whatever pain he was suffering, he could no longer feel it.
On the cusp of passing out entirely, resigned to his failure, a bellow of rage snapped his eyes open. The grip on his neck loosened. Lancelot dragged his heavy eyelids open just in time to see the Imprisoned Knight torn away, wrapped in bands of dark green light.
His heart seized.
Mustering the last of his strength, Lancelot resumed swimming to the surface, breaking it with a sob of relief.
Before he could figure out how to swim to shore, familiar magic did it for him, until he was crawling on weak limbs up the grassy bank, where familiar arms held him close.
"Took you long enough, you stupid bastard. "
"Yell at me later—we need to get you healed," Merlin replied.
Forcing Lancelot to sit upright, he splayed his hands over Lancelot's chest and murmured softly to himself.
Lancelot was bathed in tingling magic, breath hitching as the pain slowly eased.
As the magic faded, he slumped, barely supported by Merlin's much smaller frame. "Drink this."
Lancelot took the offered bottle and, with Merlin's help, drank the contents.
It tasted like toasted marshmallows, something he'd only had once when he was very young, given by a kindly elderly neighbor.
As the strengthening potion took effect, he gently pushed away from Merlin and climbed to his feet.
"I don't have pain sensors this good, or taste sensors at all, so why does this feel entirely like the real world? "
"Because it more or less is for us," Merlin said as he too stood.
Fully awakened, he was more beautiful than ever, all of his mother's succubus side coming to the fore.
A man who had been betrayed, gone mad, then fallen in love with first a king and then a witch.
"Lancelot, it's so good to see you again, my dearest friend. "
Lancelot hugged him tightly, awash in ancient memories, their last horrible moment together. "I was starting to think I'd have to clobber you."
"No, the moment you went into the lake and that…that knight followed, everything started to come together."
"Where did he go?" Lancelot looked around desperately, hoping against hope, but Galehaut was long gone.
"No idea. He just broke free of my bindings and vanished." He drew back, resting a hand against Lancelot's cheek. "I am so sorry I was nearly too late." Stepping back, he said, "I'll message you a place to meet. Go and get some real rest. We'll speak in person tomorrow."
Too exhausted and weary to argue, Lancelot squeezed his shoulder affectionately before logging out. He barely made it to his bed before he passed out.