The widowed queen wore black; her weeds matched her sombre mood. She had discarded the bright robe she had been forced to wear to the ceremony, and she felt that happiness would be forever beyond her. And yet despite her bereavement, she knew she must soldier on, like the knights now shorn of their leader and inspiration. Things would never be the same again. She sat, gazing out of the window of her solar, but the beautiful vista of the city failed to lighten her mood. A feeling of utter hopelessness came upon her. She had lost her husband, and her dearest friend, but the loss to the kingdom of its two greatest and most powerful men was beyond repair. She thought back to the ordeal of yesterday, at which she had been proclaimed sole ruler, no longer a consort.

"Long live the Queen," echoed in her head, over and over, as she closed her eyes and relived the moment. No one had wanted this, certainly not she. Only Camelot's enemies could take heart from the tragic turn of events following the victory at Camlann. She saw the distraught faces of the populace that had turned to her for reassurance and comfort; she had tried to provide for them what she was unable to provide for herself.

And she could not even achieve closure, because Merlin had not returned with Arthur's remains. She alone had felt the hour of Arthur's passing, just as she had sensed that he was still alive until that moment. Although she had known it with a crushing certainty, it was only the passage of time that had convinced the others that all hope was lost. There had been no word from the sorcerer, for such she must call him now, not even a whisper. Where was he, and why had he abandoned them all in their hour of greatest need? She reflected how little she really knew of Merlin, and with a sinking heart, admitted what a master of deception he must be. Gaius had attempted to explain all he had done for Arthur and the kingdom, but Gwen could see through the years of lies and obfuscation to the truth. If Merlin had trusted them enough to be open and honest, in all probability Arthur would still be alive today. Such thoughts could only increase her suffering, and a well of tears rose to the surface, ready to overflow. Rising quickly, she crossed the room and locked the door so she should not be disturbed, before releasing the dam and ceding to her private grief.

...

The old man shifted uncomfortably in his chair and looked around his chambers. Surrounded by the ephemera of his profession, the vials and potions, and the surgical instruments, it struck him how pointless it all seemed now. His existence seemed dull and meaningless; despite his adherence to duty, he was merely going through the motions. Totally exhausted, he took advantage of a moment's rest after having been out on call for hours; it seemed his services were more in demand than ever. From the highest and most exalted lords and ladies of the land, to members of the court, to the humblest denizens of the lower town, all sections of society required the attention of their physician. Despite the constant summonses he received, Gaius had never felt more alone. That loneliness, that malaise that struck at his very heart was the same that assailed the kingdom generally. While he had been obliged to prescribe a number of restorative tonics, he could no more provide a real remedy for the grief that had settled on the community like an oppressive blanket, than he could lift it for himself. Only time could do that, and in this case, he feared, they would all carry their grief to the grave...and beyond.

The kingdom was like a rudderless ship, adrift in an ocean of grief. He feared the ship might sink without trace, despite the best efforts of the queen and the remaining knights. He knew Guinevere to be resilient and capable of rising to any challenge, as she had often proved before. But while he had every faith in her, Gaius felt her burden was too heavy. Her husband had been torn from her before the appointed time, at what should have been their happiest moment – the ending of the war. The physician sighed deeply and shook his head in disbelief, as he had done many times in recent days, asking himself the same question over and over again. How had they somehow managed to snatch what seemed like total defeat from the jaws of victory? It wasn't meant to be this way. All their hopes and dreams of Albion and its Golden Age had been brutally shattered, and all their sacrifices had been rendered futile. Destiny had been denied. Again, he asked himself how it had come to this. The bitterness was overpowering and the loss of Merlin devastating. He was nothing without the boy, as he still thought of him fondly. He would gladly have given his own life for Arthur and Merlin to fulfil their destinies together. The way it should have been. The bright future that they'd been promised. The time the poets spoke of...But instead the king lay dead, the gods only knew where, and Merlin had disappeared. Gaius knew he would not return. He had known it when they said goodbye. If Arthur did not live, Merlin would never set foot in Camelot again. It was unthinkable.

…

The Rising Sun tavern was full again. Always a focal point for the community, it was here that members congregated to share their grief, visiting whenever they were able. Knights and civilians mingled, comfortable in each other's company. Any barriers of rank or distinction had come crashing down in their time of crisis and the aftermath of war. The people met to mourn and discuss, and above all, to drown their sorrows.

Sir Leon sat nursing a tankard of mead. He'd never been one to approve of drunkenness, and his commitment to duty and sobriety notwithstanding, but in times like these, with the loss of their king and two of their closest friends, he felt a little excess was forgiveable, warranted even. He turned his attention back to his companion and considered how best to attempt to cheer him up. Sir Percival presented a morose picture. Normally of a calm, cheerful and unflappable disposition, the knight was ravaged by guilt and regret. While he knew he could have done nothing to prevent Arthur's death or the disappearance of Merlin, he blamed himself for not being strong enough to withstand Gwaine's suggestion. What on earth had they hoped to achieve in pursuing Morgana? Experience had taught them nothing, and Sir Percival felt foolish in the extreme as well as devastated that he'd been unable to save his friend. He still couldn't bring himself to talk about it, other than the mere information that Gwaine had died at Morgana's hands. The memory of it made him shudder again.

Sir Leon looked him over thoughtfully, deciding that work was likely to be the most cathartic approach for both of them. Conversation and sympathy hadn't helped in the slightest. "Right then, my friend," he said, draining his tankard in a single gulp. "Let's get back to the training field." He grasped Sir Percival by the arm and helped him to stand up, and they made their way, a little unsteadily to the door.

...

Arthur felt nothing as he sank to the depths of his watery grave. The king of Camelot descended deeper and deeper, as the waters of the lake closed over him, sealing the barrier with the land of the living. There was no pain, no sensation, and the darkness engulfed him completely. He lay peacefully undisturbed; he never knew for how long, but after an interval which could have been hours, days, weeks, or even years, a faint murmuring awakened his consciousness. Voices, becoming louder, intruded on his slumber. He heard the same words, repeated constantly: "Must go on, must go back, unprecedented, unheard of, never"...There was a female voice, soft and persuasive, gentle yet persistent, that somehow stirred the faintest of memories in him. A male voice, unknown but authoritative, yet with an increasing hint of desperation, as it yielded to a higher power. "Arthur Pendragon, The Once and Future King, legend..."

With a start, he realized they were discussing him and arguing over his fate. This puzzled him. He was dead, wasn't he? He was pretty sure about that. He remembered the moment of his passing quite clearly, so what on earth was there to discuss? He wished they would stop arguing and just leave him in peace. He deserved that, after all the trauma and agony he had been through. But when the voices finally stopped, a pulsing blue light surrounded him, so dazzling in its brilliance that he could sense it even though his eyes were closed. Someone took him by the hand and pulled him to his feet. He found he was was able to open his eyes and discovered that he was standing in a chamber with plain, whitewashed walls. In front of him stood a woman dressed in a white robe. A beautiful woman that he was sure he had seen before. If only he could think where. He gaped at her, the impression of unreality overwhelming him. He was used to being in control, but now he didn't know what to do. Feeling totally bewildered by the turn of events, he opened and closed his mouth wordlessly several times, but eventually he found his voice.

"Who are you and what do you want from me?"

"I am Freya, the Lady of the Lake," she replied, her gentle smile tinged with melancholy. "I have come to tell you you must go back. Your time has not yet come, Arthur Pendragon. It is not your fate to die so soon. You still have much to accomplish."

"But as I was dying, I heard what the dragon said to Merlin. He said that everything in the prophecies had already come to pass."

She laughed, a pleasant, tinkling sound, that somehow held no hint of mirth. "We both know that isn't true. You have barely even begun to fulfil your destiny, and as for Kilgharrah, he is not omniscient, as much as he would like to believe he is, and he has always served his own interests first. He has often led Merlin astray."

Arthur didn't understand any of this, and he knew nothing of Kilgharrah. His mind was filled with doubt and confusion. "How can I go back?" he asked. He knew it wasn't possible. Was he really in the afterlife? This could be some form of dark magic or perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him. Nobody ever returned from beyond the grave, but seeing the serene certainty on her face confused him even more. "Why me?" he managed finally.

"You are the Once and Future King," she answered simply. "You are unique."

He still looked baffled. "Your story will be a beacon of hope and inspiration till the end of time," she explained, "and this will not be your only return. Whenever your people need you, you will answer their call, and they need you now."

His mind was still beset by questions, concerning the past, present and future. Too many to ask at once. "But what am I supposed to do?" he blurted.

"You must find the answer to that within yourself," she replied. "It is not for me to tell you."

How very frustrating, he thought, and absolutely typical. Everyone magical talked in riddles. Magic. She definitely had magic, and perhaps this was what he was meant to do – restore magic to the land. He knew now that sorcery wasn't intrinsically evil, the complete opposite of what he'd always been taught to believe. He stared at her, trying to understand. In response, she opened her mind and allowed him the faintest glimpse into her memories. He saw her, terrified and caged by the bounty hunter, Halig. He saw her escape into the tunnels beneath the citadel, helped by Merlin. He felt her internal struggle as she transformed into the beast, while powerless to prevent it. And finally, he saw himself, on that black and ill-fated night, mortally wounding her, before Merlin came to her rescue once again and brought her to the lake. The revelation of her identity and history made him stagger from shock, from grief, and from guilt. He now knew that he had only seen her before in her other form, and he wondered if he had recognized her spirit.

"I am sorry," he gasped. "So very sorry."

"You were not to know," she said, but you can make amends now."

"To you? How?" he asked eagerly. "I will do anything you want."

"Not to me. It is too late for me, and I am content with my destiny. Your reparation must be to the people, and to Merlin."

Merlin. All the memories came flooding back. The years of deceit, the startling revelation of Merlin's magic, and the agony of their final journey and last moments together. Now he could admit to himself how much they meant to each other, and he just hoped the idiot hadn't done something silly.

The connection between their minds was still open, and she was quick to reassure him. "He cannot die," she said, "however much he would wish to."

This was another body blow, which again left him reeling from shock. He felt winded and could barely speak. "What do you mean?" he whispered. "He's immortal?" He knew it wasn't possible, but then, he wouldn't have believed that any of this was possible. It was all too much to take in. Arthur himself, alone among men, was being granted a second chance, while the depth of Merlin's tragedy struck him like a hammer blow. To be the greatest sorcerer that ever lived was one thing, but to have to live for ever was quite another. Immortality was a curse. To be forced to live on while all your loved ones died was a nightmare. He was almost afraid to ask the question. "Does he know?"

"He knows now," she replied. "It is his destiny. Whenever you return, he will be there to help you. You will never be alone."

"But he will."

"Yes," she said sadly, "through the long years of waiting, he will."

He could not stop the tears falling. The thought of how much his friend had suffered and was yet to suffer on his behalf was unbearable. He was overcome again by feelings of guilt and shame, and he wished that somehow they could share the burden together.

"He is strong," she consoled him, "but you'd better get back to him quickly, hadn't you?"

This made him attempt to pull himself together and act in a decisive manner. "You are right," he said, looking around for an exit. "Tell me how to leave this place."

"Arthur, aren't you forgetting something?" she asked him, but seeing his look of surprise, she laughed again.

"You'll be needing this," she said, presenting him with the sword. His sword. Excalibur. He understood its importance now and he would guard it with his life. His second life, his second chance, and he knew he would do things differently this time, unhampered by prejudice and doubt. He would finally cast off his father's shadow, and be the king he was always meant to be.

"Thank you," he breathed softly. He regarded her with gratitude and admiration, and it was easy to see why Merlin had loved her.

"You are welcome," she smiled. "Now go and fulfil your destiny, with Merlin at your side."

As she spoke, her image faded before his eyes, and the walls of the chamber dissolved. He found himself propelled upwards by a great and unseen force to the surface of the lake. He climbed at once into the waiting boat, which took him slowly to the shore.