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Fire, screams, metal against metal, and then a voice. That beautiful voice that always seemed to pull him out of the darkest moments of his life.
"Please," Arthur heard Guinevere beg. "Please spare us..."
A laugh interrupted Guinevere's pleas and Arthur felt his blood run cold.
"Morgana," he roared and ran toward the two women.
At the sound of his voice, Morgana movied quickly to hold Guinevere in front of her, one arm across her waist, the other holding a dagger to her neck.
"Arthur," she said silkily. "Just the person I wanted to see."
"Let her go Morgana."
"I don't think so," Morgana moved the dagger, breaking the delicate skin just above Guinevere's collarbone.
Arthur saw Guinevere close her eyes in an attempt to quell her fear.
'Look at me, Guinevere,' he begged silently. 'I will save...'
Morgana brought the dagger down and plunged into Guinevere's stomach. A smile wrought of pure malice spread across the witch's face as she twisted the knife deeper into the body of the woman who was once her serving girl.
The woman whom she thought usurped her rightful place on the throne of Camelot.
"Take a long hard look, brother," Morgana said as she drained the life away from Guinevere. "If I don't have a right to the throne, then this little nobody shall never sit on it, either."
One more twist and then Morgana pulled the dagger from Gwen's body. The maid's body fell to the floor, blood seeping from the wound inflicted by the witch.
The coldness in Arthur's veins was replaced with white, hot rage. He flew at the witch, Excalibur glinting in his hand. His swiftness took Morgana by surprise and she stumbled against the tattered hem of her skirt.
Arthur took advantage of this and rushed at Morgana, a parry, a duck at a haphazardly thrown spell, and he had Morgana on the ground, Excalibur now pointed at her throat.
"Go ahead," a maniacal glint was in Morgana's eyes as she spoke. "But remember Arthur, no amount of magic-of love," Morgana sneered the word. "Will ever bring back your poor, dead. Gui..."
The rest of Morgana's words were cut off as Arthur thrust Excalibur in her throat. He saw the blood froth at her mouth and he stared at her face until he saw the last of life drain from it. it was only when he was sure that she was dead did he drop his sword and rush to the other woman who was lying on the floor.
Excalibur clattered to the ground as Arthur took Guinevere's body in his arms. Her breathing was shallow and he could see that every breath caused her great pain. Helplessness flooded Arthur as he gathered her close to him.
"Help us!" He called out. "Guards!" He called again. He was deaf to the sounds of metal hitting metal and the screams of soldiers and warriors battling each other.
"Arthur," Guinevere whispered and Arthur wept at the sound of her voice. Already he knew that it was too late for her; she was bleeding to death. Her dress, once the color of lavender that he had come to associate with her, was now a deep maroon with her blood.
"...Love," she said weakly, her voice breaking with the effort to say the word.
"Please don't leave me," he begged as he pressed a small kiss on her forehead. "Guinevere, I love you. Please, I beg you don't leave me."
She looked into his eyes as he spoke, but she was too weak to say anything. With what strength she had left, she turned her face into Arthur's body, staying as close as she could to the man she loved more than herself.
"Please, please, please," Arthur said softly. All will to fight left him; he kept his focus entirely on the woman who was slowly slipping away from this life, from his life, forever.
And then she was still. Arthur became aware that her breathing had stopped, and that her hand had grown limp. He moved her slowly, dreading what he would see if he looked into her beautiful face.
She looked peaceful; her brow unmarred by pain, by the last horrible moments of her life.
"No," the word was a harsh groan ripped from Arthur's chest. "Guinevere, no. You cannot leave me here, my love."
He pressed a desperate kiss to her lips, hoping that his love would flood her body with life, that she would grow warm once again.
"No, no," he wept. "No! Come back to me, Guinevere..."
"Arthur," a voice broke into Arthur's consciousness. A male voice.
"Arthur!" It was more urgent now. "Arthur wake up!"
Merlin.
"Guinevere!" Arthur sat bolt upright in bed, his fingers grasping at his love's phantom body, his mind still full of the images of her death.
"The nightmare again?" Merlin's voice broke into his reverie and Arthur looked up to see his friend looking at him with concerned eyes.
Arthur nodded. The same nightmare of Guinevere dying in his arms. The same nightmare that has plagued him for lifetimes.
"Are you all right?" Merlin asked, concern plain in his voice. he was dressed in hospital scrubs, obviously having just gotten home from work.
Arthur nodded.
"Go to bed, Merlin," he said, not wanting speak about what just happened.
The other man nodded and moved to the door.
"Arthur," he said. "We will find her again."
Arthur looked at Merlin and his mouth twisted at the words the wizard spoke.
"We will find Gwen again," Merlin said in a much firmer tone. "We will find the Queen again."
Arthur stared at the door long after Merlin closed it behind him. How long have they been telling each other that? How long have they promised that they would find Guinevere?
'Far, far too long,' Arthur thought. He had lived countless lives, became a great ruler in every one, all without Guinevere. He had remembered every lifetime, and in each of them, he had looked for the woman who sacrificed herself so that he could conquer his greatest foe.
In all but one of his lifetimes, Arthur lived without the one person who would complete him. In all his lifetimes, he was plagued by nightmares of the last time he held her. Arthur lived for centuries with his heartbreak and the guilt from knowing that he couldn't save the woman he loved.
Arthur made his way to the bathroom and looked at his reflection in the mirror. Tiredness was etched on his face, not because of the sleepless nights-god knows he has had way too many of those to count-but because he was weary. Weary of living alone, tired of being without Guinevere.
"Guinevere," Arthur whispered. "Where are you, my love?"