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The air around them wavered and blurred, as if he was surrounded by invisible flames. Through it all, he kept his eyes locked with Arthur. Even though it hurt to look upon him. Even though his image began to blur as well. He clasped Arthur’s hand so tightly, he thought they might be fused together forever, like volcanic rock reformed.
He wouldn’t let go.
He’d never let go.
And then—
It was over. As suddenly as it began.
It was Arthur who released his hand at last, where it fell limply to his side.
Lancelot’s body tingled with shock. His skin seemed to crawl over his muscles and bones, like a startled animal resettling. Even the roots of his hair felt singed; he could practically smell the burn.
When he drew the first full breath without feeling as if a giant ogre sat upon his chest, he knew he was himself again. No longer weakened by mortal ills. Now humming with superhuman speed and strength.
And wholly unconnected to Arthur.
He finally broke their gaze and looked away.
“How do you feel?” Annie asked the king.
There was such a long pause that Lancelot glanced back at Arthur from beneath his lashes. Surely, he suffered no ill effects.
“I feel…myself,” Arthur husked, his deep voice rough and ragged.
“My…heart…burns.”
Annie nodded.
“Yes, I believe it might for some time.”
She looked to her Mate for confirmation.
“A mortal body must adjust to holding such powerful magic,” Merlin added.
“In most cases, it is too much to handle and result in madness or death. But you are my son. You have half of me. And your mother was touched by magic as well, though she was human. Once your body has fully absorbed my powers, you will be stronger for it. There is no telling what magic of your own that you might be able to create.”
Arthur stared at his palms, outstretched before him, as if he could see the changes already.
“And you, Lance,” Annie said, turning to Lancelot.
“How do you feel?”
He tried to gather saliva in his mouth and swallowed to lubricate his scorched throat before speaking. A number of words came to mind:
Bereft.
Alone.
Cut off.
Desperate.
Angry.
Lost.
He couldn’t blame these emotions on Arthur, for he no longer shared an echo of the other man’s feelings vicariously. They were exclusively his own.
