He had been half-aware of the blonde brute while he struggled with more pressing opponents, but even so the blow caught him completely off guard. The feeling was more intense than one of Dagonet's punches; in that instant all of the air rushed from his lungs and his entire chest burned as though he'd been slammed against the fortress walls.

The shock of the blow had not even hit Lancelot completely, but he could already feel his legs giving way. Before his balance was thrown off too completely, Lancelot hurled one of his blades at the Saxon, his aim true and the tip sinking into the man's chest several inches. Deep enough that Lancelot was certain the other man would not be walking away from it.

Lancelot's own chest felt numb. As he stumbled to his knees, his eyes scanned the battlefield frantically, desperate to catch sight of Arthur. He could not fade if Arthur continued to live; the man would be utterly useless without him.

A thick cloud of smoke was momentarily thinned by a sudden gust of wind and in that moment Lancelot watched as Arthur killed the Saxon leader. Arthur was still alive.

"Arthur..." Lancelot groaned as he fell onto his side.

It felt as though lightning was coursing through his entire body, entering through the thick wooden shaft stuck in his chest. And though it would have been so easy to simply fade from it all, he hung on, using the pain to tether himself to the world around him.

"Better for you to simply die now," a deceptively sweet voice murmured through the darkness that clouded his vision. "Better that you die now rather than linger on. He will accept it easier if you do not linger."

All that he could do was let out a gurgling scream as the arrow in his chest shifted suddenly. He scrabbled weakly to grab hold of it, but his hands simply floundered about. As the arrow moved again he screamed, louder than before and he managed to choke out a single word.

"ARTHUR!"

The whole of his consciousness flittered in and out of focus then, sounds disjointed amidst the endless stench of pitch-fueled flames. Lancelot struggled to keep from sinking into the entreating darkness. He could not abandon Arthur to the man woman. She would hollow him out and devour him if left to her own devices.

"Just fade. You will both be the better for it."

Lancelot flailed his arm weakly in the direction of her voice, rolling onto his back as he struggled to draw air into his lungs. It became more difficult with each breath that he took, his lungs filling less and less each time. His legs and arms were beginning to feel numb, the sensation creeping inwards every moment.

His scream was little more than a pathetic whimper when the arrow moved for the third time.

"Somehow I don't think you should be doing that."

The voice wasn't Arthur's, but, more importantly, it wasn't hers either. Gawain wasn't his first choice as a rescuer, but he would do.

"Step away from Lancelot now before I feel the need to hit you with my axe."

Lancelot himself had been on the receiving end of that threat more times than he cared to recall, but it had never sounded quite so threatening before.

"Why would I wish any harm to the man who saved my life?"

"Why indeed?"

If they said any more, their voices faded to a hum that Lancelot could not longer decipher. The words were all mixed together in varying tones that Lancelot was sure meant an argument. The worried rumbling of Galahad's voice filtered in along with a gently probing touch around the wound, determining the extent of the damage. Fingers that occasionally pressed a little too hard for comfort.

"NO!"

The shout sounded as though it had been ripped from his chest, but it was close. Arthur was there.

Arthur's hands were on his face, turning it to the side. Warm breath panted against his cheek as fingers fumbled frantically at his neck.

"Stay with me, Lancelot. Please stay with me," Arthur pleaded. With him and not with his god. "Just stay with me."

Try as he might, Lancelot couldn't do anything except lean his cheek into Arthur's touch.