An: Two things posted in one day? Am I going mad? Yes.

So, this is something I've had on my computer for a while but completely forgot about. This is the prologue, though it will remain as a one shot for now and I will warn you now that updates will probably be slow if I continue.

Please tell me if you think I should continue this. If I get at least five (positive) reviews, I will. Fair enough?

Enjoy!

Water roared in his ears, spray wet his face. The cave walls rushed past in a blur, and he shivered uncontrollably. His hands grasped uselessly at the stone, trying to get a grip, but failing. His hair was plastered to his scalp, but he didn't notice, focusing on just trying to keep his head above the water.

"Arthur!" he yelled.

Listening for a reply, none forthcoming. A sinking feeling clutched his heart, mixed with a twisted hope. The prince could be safe, could have got away - which means I'm alone - or he might have drowned at the beginning, and be lying on the river bed, pale and dead. With no help to come; alone.

Still he was kept moving, the river whisking him on, never stopping, never halting. Would it ever end? A cry was torn from his lips as he was bashed against unseen rocks, a pain starting in his leg. His ribs were already bruised, from the pummelling water, and the bandit attack - oh, he was getting too old for this.

God! Would it end?

"Arthur!" he called out again, desperately.

His shout echoed against the walls, uselessly repeating the name, over and over, loud enough to be heard even over the water. Abruptly, his attention was snatched as he saw light. Light! An end to this torment, an end to this pain. Where would it lead?

All thoughts were temporarily stopped as he was pulled under the water, and he battled just to surface again, to breathe again. When he did, the light was much closer and he could see out of the hole.

He strained his eyes, trying to see where he would come to rest, shaking his head and blinking his eyes when he didn't see what he should. Instead of seeing grass, and a river bed, all he could see was valleys in the distance. What did it mean?

He knew, but refused to acknowledge.

The story's were true, this proved it. But they weren't, couldn't be. He wouldn't allow it to be. Something cold touched his arm, and he flinched away, reaching for a sword that he didn't have with him.

It was a hand, a cold, pale, lifeless, hand. Long, slender fingers that looked almost like Morgana's. A cry of anguish tore from his lips as the rest of the body floated past - was this his fate? No, I won't let it be.

Still he was pushed onwards, the hole of light coming ever nearer. Belatedly, he tried to turn away, to escape this inevitable end. Uselessly trying to swim, his face contorting into animal like features. He snarled, grunted, gasped, legs kicking, arms clawing. All the time trying to breathe, just to stay alive.

The hole was next to him now, he was near the end, and he was forced to acknowledge the truth of the story's.

A hole in the world; with no bottom, no end. Just water and death.

A cliff, with a river down it's side. The end of all things.

There was a pause as he reached the edge, a moment of clarity. His eyes were opened for the first time in years as he looked down, over the edge. The last cry that left his mouth was not for Arthur, not for Morgana, nor his deceased wife. He did not plead to the gods for his life, or ask why. He did not call for his father, nor his mother. It was not for someone, nor something.

His last thought; if this really was the end of the world, he was about to fall into it.

"Kilgarrah!"

LoLoLoL

Not many would mourn the kings passing. A literal handful of people including Arthur, Sir Leon and Gaius. The people would pretend to mourn, to appease the young prince in this dark time, but none would truly feel sorry. The proper respects would be paid, a new age would begin. A new era of light and hope, peace and happiness.

Indeed, more people would mourn for the prince's manservant, who passed on the same fateful day. He had been well liked by those around him, and it was hard to say who would mourn him the most. Arthur, Hunith, Gwen, or Gaius.

They would soon find out. But first, Prince Arthur, the only survivor of a deadly skirmish, would have to reach home. Alone, wearied, and hurt.

His story for the world to see, his scars to remain forever.

Destiny had a cruel way of concluding events, for the golden age would still begin, Albion would still be reunited, and magic would be free once again.

King and manservant would be gone, passed away in their own horrific ways.

Or would they?