Author's Note: Another Sandman crossover- I know I'm terrible. Spoilers from "Excalibur" and "Le Mort de Arthur" as well as every other story of Arthur Pendragon ever written or muttered. Comments are always loved and appreciated. Crossposted like whoa.

Disclaimer: "If we shadows have offended, think but this and all is mended,

That you did but slumber'd here while these visions did appear.

And this weak and idle theme is no more yielding then a dream."

-Midsummer's Night Dream

Five Times Uther Met Death (and One time Arthur did)

By: Lady Erised

The night Hwicce falls, the youngest Prince is startled by a dream that is not a dream. He sits up when he realizes she's there but he makes no cry for help. Instead, he watches her, entranced and terrified as she moves through the small hovel that is his hiding place. She turns to watch him.

"Camelot came." He tells her because he already knows.

The woman with bone white skin and hair darker then coal is almost tempted to sit on the foot of the bed and run a hand through his brown hair if she thought to comfort him. It wouldn't so she doesn't. Instead, she can see Sorcerer King's son still a prince shining bold and solitary, asking for neither confirmation nor comfort. She cannot tell the future even if she knows eventually how it ends (it always end the same way, one way or another) but she thinks she sees some of the man he'll become sitting there, unafraid before her.

Hwicce was strong in the Old Religion, unlike Camelot, and their alliance of new Crowns, eager for land and conquest. Their King was a Sorcerer, her friend, and tonight she had come for him. Tonight she had seen a Kingdom and its place in history enter her realm once and for all.

She wondered what would become of its remains. What place would the Wiccan prince have in the world where Magics would have no place in Court.

Gingerly, for her sake and not his, Death reaches out a hand into Uther's silky curls, urging him to sleep. She knows how it will end eventually.

She always does.

"I know your face."

The Knight is smiling, bemused and kind, at her. He has dismounted his horse and is already pulling the dagger from his boot. But she doesn't recognize him until his blue eyes are a whisper away from her own face (human now, as it is when the mood strikes her) and she sees the mirth, the rakish charm he inherited from his father and will pass one day to his son in them. She can sense his Magic, a blaze in his childhood (all children are Magic), is now an ember.

He's more Mora Knight now then Socerer's son and Hwicce's name and any memory of his crown are dreams he doesn't remember.

He cuts the trap she found herself in and runs a practiced hand over her ankle, searching for tenderness.

"I know your face, tell me how I do." He's comfortable beside her and she knows why. All Knights know her and while most would never question why; Uther is better than most. "Have we met?"

"You know me well." She teases him. "One day you'll know why." At this angle, she decides he's handsome but only when that confusion brightens his eyes. "And you didn't need to stop but you did. I owe you."

"You owe me nothing. I did the only thing I could." He looks surprised again. She can't blame him. As far he knows all he did was cut the ropes of a bear trap that had accidentally caught a woman. He pays no mind to Runic markings painted onto the ropes, or on the metal pieces of the snare. She knows that ever since Man has had grasp of Magics the unwise have tried to capture her- to wrestle lordship from Death, and till now, they haven't succeeded. "But tell me your name, if nothing else."

Thanks in a small part to Uther, they still haven't. Now, she wasn't normally inclined to offer gifts freely, that belonged better to her brother, sister, or the one who was both but still, something about the man with his father's eyes softened her heart.

"I'll give you something, in return. Anything you ask." She told him. " When you remember my name..."

"But I don't know you."

"You will."

He is kneeling by the bed with his hands ringed in Igraine's when she enters. The Queen's breaths are short and shallow, and she has long since stopped trying to hold her husband as fiercely as he clings to her. Her eyes are open, and watching the King, but nothing shines in them. There's no fire there, no tenderness, no magic. There's too much blood. The baby, Arthur, has been ushered into an adjourning room but he has yet to cry.

It is too quiet, and the heaviness is palpable.

"Death." The word- her name- takes forever to reach her from across the room. The King has neither lifted his head nor turned to look to her. "You are Death, and I have known you since I was a boy; dreaming of a Kingdom that didn't exist."

She says nothing.

Sheer will, or desperation, lifts his head. Uther looks around the bedroom, not seeing the walls and then to Igraine, not seeing she's already gone in every way that matters. She lives now, only for him. The King looks placid. He gets up slowly, hesitating only to pull his hand from Igraine's, and then unbuckling his belt he lays the sword on the bed, with crown and mantle and moves to her.

"I'm not afraid." He says simply, before kneeling before her. Few men who say it really mean it. He does.

Death slides her hand through his hair, for her sake and not his, before stepping around him.

He understands a moment later.

"No!" He moves to grab her arm, yanking her to him again. "Choose me! You've come to restore the balance, I am not afraid and I am willing. Please…come for me. Camelot needs her." He pleas, desperation pouring into every word. "My son needs her. This cannot be the Kingdom she dreamed of without her. I cannot make it the world she wanted…please take me."

"I am not bargained with, not courted or begged. I am and that is all." He sees her as she is for the first time; then. She was not a god, not made of Magics. She is bone white and unaged, and if there's tenderness in her eyes, or cruelty he cannot see. "I didn't come for you, King Uther."

As she walks to the bed, Death wonders if he'll invoke her promise. She offered him anything and if he wanted she might have passed over the room. It was a simple thing to be selfish but as she leaned down to kiss the Queen, Uther does nothing.

When she turned back her gaze, she saw her brother- as tall as a mountain, fearsome as thunder- place one heavy hand on Uther's head like a crown. The human seems to crumble under the weight.

Nimueh catches him as he fell but neither mortal soul heard Death and her brother speak.

"He's mine now, sister." Destruction apologizes, watching her walk out of the room.

Death took one final look back to Uther, cradling himself against his lover, and nodded. "Yes. He is."

Uther thinks she's Nimeuh come again. His hand is on his sword, the sword is pulled and leveled against her throat before he realizes his mistake and when he does; Uther hesitates before withdrawing. He lets it clatter to the floor, before pouring another goblet full. The wine wouldn't work, both of them knew that, not for what he wanted to be done.

Below, Tristan Dubois waited with his standards as fierce and unforgiving as the night.

Death walks behind him, straining on her tip toes to see the Wraith over Uther's shoulder. It was not unusual for those who had entered her realm to be occasionally dragged from it, and she hadn't been surprised to find out Nimueh was behind it. For all her talk of balance, Nimueh seldom did anything but use Magics for her own purposes.

"Have you come to take him?" Uther whispers. Death saw he trembled. Anything of the prince, or the Knight, or even Camelot's warrior King seemed gone; a dream she had and in their place was a father staring down at something that was going to hurt his son. He was afraid.

"I don't know." She answers truthfully. "I can't see that far ahead."

"So what…You've come to wait? Like a grim or Augurey?"

"I come as I always was." She moves to the door, opening it for him. "A friend, yours. Leave the sword and walk with me."

The city stretches around them and for the most part, they don't talk. Uther's footsteps are heavy and his mind returns to the castle, to the dead man. "The worst part…" He whispers at length, following where she takes him. "The worst part is once Arthur dies, that monster will just issue a challenge again won't he? My son will die for nothing but vanity."

"No. He will die for you." She stopped in front of his physician's home. Waiting. Knowing. Uther met her eyes in the darkness, and as it occurred to him, he took it on the chest.

"Alright. I will. I'm not afraid." He lies. Then, almost like an afterthought, he met her eyes. "Once you offered me a favor. Anything I asked. Do you hold to your word?"

"I do. Ask."

She wondered if he would ask for the Wraith's life. Any lesser man would, a removal of the most pressing danger so he could rise to greet the next. "…Arthur never dies." The King wasn't asking, although she doubted he knew that. It was the father. "The Kingdom…needs him. I have seen the man he'll become, the King he'll be one day…he's not ready but he'll have to be and his Kingdom…his rule will be far greater than any seen before or since. The people will look to him, and love him. They'll need him. He can't die."

"Uther…think you what you ask."

"I have." His eyes danced feverishly in the moonlight, a king of a dying age, and when he's gone, a new time his legacy will not understand. She wonders if he knows… "Swear it."

There was the briefest of nods, and Death seemed sad in his eyes before she was gone. Quietly, mustering what little strength he doesn't feel Uther opens the door to Gaius' home.

Uther is smiling for the first time in years. He's young again and the laughter on his lips is honest. Hope is a good look on him, and kindness even more so. He had forgotten how to wear it for so long the Court marvels at it. But Arthur lives, and the vigils are gone. Camelot lives with Pendragon's name. He dismisses the Court when he sees her, descending the throne and nodding, towards her. The fear exists now.

Mortal men are strange creatures; in their old age they fear death when it should be a comfort. Uther has so many battles on his head, so much blood on his blade, she wonders how he doesn't crumble like he had in the Queen's bedroom.

Mortal men are beautiful creatures, sad and flickering, and when Uther takes both her hands in his, he kisses her knuckles.

"I thought you had denied me. I owe you all…and I will never forget this."

"You will, but I have not come for thanks. I am not to be…"

"Bargained with, or entreated I know." He nods. "…I know what I asked of you should not have been uttered by any man and I'm sorry but…I had to. I…"

"You love him and this Kingdom. It's not what you'll be remembered for but it is true nonetheless."

"Why have you come?"

"To speak of balance." She has to reach forward, grabbing his arm to silence another tremor. "I only bring news. Someone entered my realm, and you would have wanted to know..." He searched her face, then into her black eyes that gave nothing, and hesitated.

Death left him alone out of respect and when he spoke her name one last time, it was as soft as a lover but if it was in mourning, or surprise that his war was over Death would never reveal. "Nimueh…"

Arthur is old, and ready to die. He is so much older than a King should be. He is alone, with only Morgana to stroke his brow. He looks up at her through feverish eyes, straining to see something of the girl he knew in her eyes. She is fearsome now, so much the High Priestess that brought so much ruin to Camelot.

Merlin is gone, and his wife, even Lancelot; those he loved and fought for have all gone away from him; like he knows they would in time. Camelot was at war.

He strains to remember how it ended, there at Cad Camlan and he wonders if he dies now, with no son and heir.

He is old, and the wound in his side burns his fears away.

There is a woman on the ship's bow, staring down at him. He's comfortable under her gaze, knowing all at once she is neither from Morgana's Isle nor from Camelot. There's recognition in her eyes. She looks sad. She is bone white and placid. He knows in a moment she is not God, nor made of Magic. She is something else entirely. Endless. "I am not afraid of you."

"I know."

"I've been waiting for you."

"I know."

Arthur shifted for a moment, trying to sit up, but Morgana catches his shoulder with fingers are quick and nimble as spider webs and ease him back to her lap. He stares at her Death, not understanding. For her part, she can only smile. "It's not your time, Arthur, king of Albion."

"…I don't understand."

"I made a promise. It was foolish, and ill-conceived, given to a man who's heart was his strength but he is not remembered for it. He knew you were the rightful King and all he did was to prepare you a throne. His people needed you…and so he gave you to them. He condemned you. You never asked for it, but…" Death moved with practiced hands to his side, taking his hands in both of hers and kissing his knuckles. "But I doubt you will refuse it…even now." Arthur inhaled from the pain. "…you have his eyes, you know."

"…why…"

"Because you are his son, because you are so much more than that, because you secured peace and balance and all for commoner as well as Noble. Because your people needs you as they need me, and they will trap you, unwise and without understanding, and you…you will let them. They need you. For you, that alone is enough.

"Because you are Arthur Pendragon." Death said softly, standing slowly. "The once and future King."

And with that, she was gone. Her heart could take nothing more.