When Albion's Need Is Greatest

[Arthur Pendragon]

Arthur heavily inhaled, gasping for air that finally came to him as his head emerged from the water. Though the strain caused him to gasp a few times in order to catch his breath. His vision was blurred from having been underwater and he felt massively disoriented. He had no idea where he was, how long he had been here . . . or how he had gotten here. He let his instincts take over as he began to swim to shore, which was not as far as he dreaded it may be. The armor that he seemed to magically be wearing weighed him down, and while he should be used to the heavy weight of it, it felt far more of a burden than it ever had before. When he finally made it to shore, he rested on his hands and knees for a moment, continuing to catch his breath as it came out short and staggered. Blinking a few times, he shook his head a bit to help clear it as well as his vision.

Naturally looking around, he noticed something laying next to him. It was unmistakable, the way the gold markings glistened in the son. He reached for it, his hand gripping the hilt as he had done numerous times before. It was the first sense of familiarity he had right now: his sword pulled from the stone. He rose to his feet, still holding the sword as he looked over it, and then at the lake he'd emerged from. Something felt . . . off. He didn't know what it was, but he didn't feel . . . right. Was that how to phrase it? His mind was filled with incoherent thoughts. Right now, he had to focus. Focus on returning to Camelot. For who knows how long he had been here for and surely everyone was looking for the king. He could not waste a moment. Slipping the sword between his belt, he began to walk forward, hoping to gain an idea of where he was so that he could head in the right direction.

The further he walked, the more his memories began to return to him, even if it was just in flashes. Mordred. The battle. Morgana. Merlin. The thoughts of Merlin were strongest right now; thoughts of his revelation and what he had concealed from Arthur. But also, recognition for all those times he had saved him. Merlin's face had been the last Arthur had seen; hearing him try to keep him conscious was the last thing Arthur remembered. It had not worked, for he'd slipped into darkness after that . . . only to wake now. But from the bottom of the lake? How was that possible? Arthur needed answers and knew that the only way to get them was to return home. Which is why he did not stop. Yet it was also why he was weakening. Without food, water, or any strength to begin with, he could feel his energy withering away, but he could not stop for long. He needed to get back to Camelot, to Guinevère who was probably worried sick about him.

Arthur was not sure how many days had passed before he felt he could not take another step. His knees fell weakly to the ground, his back rested against a tree trunk as he focused on taking deep breathes, trying to calm his racing heart and spinning mind. He was not sure if his mind and senses was starting to play tricks on him, for in the distance, he could have sworn he heard voices and the sound of horses. But surely, that was too good to be true. Surely, fate was not that kind to him, for when had it ever been? And yet, that hope that someone was coming or the need to stay concsious should it be bandits or someone of a more violent nature, was what forced Arthur to stay conscious, just waiting, with his hand on the tip of his sword just in case he would need to draw his weapon to defend himself.

_{Setting: Starts in the woods, may move around
Time of Day: Evening
Timeline: After The Diamond of the Day II
What If: Arthur returns three years after his death, to help restore Camelot and eliminate its threats
Tag: Sir Percival}