Author's Note: This came to me while I was watching the movie for the millionth time while writing an epic King Arthur story which I hope to have posted soon. Just a random thought. Cannon to the movie with one tiny change. This is officially the shortest story I have ever written.
Disclaimer: All I own is debt...you can take that anytime you like.

Summary: A willing sacrifice is one thing, but when the end comes and all that stands before you is death, sometimes all you can ask is a kiss before dying.

o o o o o

He can feel his lifeblood draining, feel the sharp pressure-pain of the arrow lodged in his chest. The liquid gurgle in his chest hurts; he knows this is the end. The sounds of fighting are fading to a quiet din, though he can see that the battle rages on. Where is Arthur? Has his friend too fallen? What of the others, boisterous Bors, quiet Tristan, laughing Gawain, young Galahad…where are his friends? Is this his fate, to die here on the field alone? To have see no friendly face before death?

"Lancelot!"

Gwenivere. He is glad she still lives; glad his sacrifice has not been in vain. The world gets darker; he can no longer feel his arms or legs. There is no fear, not now, just a quiet acceptance. He meant it when he said he knew he would die in battle, though he had hoped it would be many years from now.

"Gwenivere" he chokes, blood trickling from his mouth.

"Oh God, Lancelot!"

Gwenivere dropped to her knees beside him, pulling his head into her lap. She saw the arrow and knew that there was nothing to be done; he was going to die because of her. She should have killed that Saxon bastard that day on the ice when she had the chance. Now it was too late, now Lancelot was going to die. Wiping away the blood that trickled down his chin Gwenivere leaned over, careful not to press into the arrow, and kissed him, hard. There was a faint response from his lips, but no passion. This was a man on the very edge of death; this was her taking his last breath into herself.

When she pulled back she could see his eyes, unseeing, and she knew he was gone. Arthur shouted from across the field, running to his best friend's side. It was too late. The numb horror in his eyes matched perfectly the stunned gaze of her own. She could taste Lancelot's blood in her mouth; she feared she would never taste anything else.

"It was my life to be taken! Not this! Never this!"

The others have come, bearing with them the body of the fallen Tristan. At least Lancelot did not go into death alone.

"My brave knights, I have failed you. I neither took you off this island, nor shared your fate."

Gwenivere couldn't help but think that Lancelot, and perhaps Tristan as well, would be glad of that; that Arthur would survive them. Merlin's hand on her shoulder made her turn, she could see in the old man's eyes the knowledge of her heart. It would be better this way; she would help Arthur unite the peoples of Britain.

"No fate is shared."

What great wisdom, those four words, but cold comfort in the wake of battle and death, cold comfort with the blood of a great knight still staining her hands. At least she had one moment with him; at least he had a kiss before dying.

o o o o o

Author's Note: Reviews make me happy in my pants...you want me to be happy right? Seriously though, leave a review...even if you hated it writing isn't worth a damn thing without reviews.