Arthur looked up from his bed, cocooned in the warmth of a blanket and pillowed by soft feathers, to meet the brown, lighted eyes of Gwaine, standing over him.
Arthur blinked. "Gwaine?" he asked softly, shifting. "What are you doing here?" His voice was little more than a croak.
"I came to get you," Gwaine said. "The others are waiting for you, but we figured you'd need some help to get there."
Arthur licked his lips and furrowed his brow. "Why'd they send you?" he asked, and Gwaine did not look affronted as the sleepy man had thought he would.
Instead, the knight flicked back his hair which he'd always been so proud of, that fluffy but silky mess that people loved to touch. "Percival didn't want to do the talking. Elyan felt like it wasn't his place, and Lancelot figured you'd just yell at him and try to kill him."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "I understand that," he said. "Why not Merlin or Gwen, though?" It hurt a little that they'd sent Gwaine.
"Merlin figured you wouldn't listen to him, and it's hard for him to leave the lake. Gwen didn't think she'd ever get around to telling you, you'd both be so happy. But they thought I'd be just irritating enough to get you up and going."
Arthur snorted. His friends. So logical. "You just want me to… get up?"
"That's all it takes."
"I'm tired."
"If you don't, I might have to run you through… Or leave you behind."
"You can't talk to me like that. I still can't believe," Arthur grunted as he sat up, surprised by the lack of aches and pains that accompanied movement. "That I outlived every last one of you."
Gwaine chuckled. "Not surprising, really, considering how much work it took to keep you alive. Merlin will insist on reminding you of every one when you get there. That's part of the reason they sent me; they figured it was my fault this was necessary, since I was the one who got in the way on Camlann."
"If they wanted to blame someone for my existence, Merlin would be a better choice." Arthur finished standing and looked back at his bed, feeling oddly light—and blinked. "Look!" he said. "Is that me?"
It was. He was still lying on the bed, eyes closed, skin leathery from years of sun and his little remaining hair gray.
"I'm so old!" he said, reaching up to feel his hair on his standing-self's head. It was soft and blond. It had been so long. He looked at Gwaine, though, standing tall in red and with a twinkle in his eyes. "But we're young. Say, Gwaine, is this all in my head?"
Gwaine reached out and patted him on the shoulder. The touch of a ghost. It was strangely warm and reassuring. "In a way," Gwaine told him, sounding a little perplexed himself. "It's like… seeing on a deeper level, actually. Not so much in your head. Gaius and Merlin can explain it better."
Arthur looked up, pleased. "Gaius?" It had been so long since he'd even thought of Gaius…
"He's waiting. Your father, too. Everyone. You always were a slow-poke."
Arthur laughed. It wasn't the laugh he'd been with the past few years. It was the familiar, a-little-too-high-pitched laugh of his prime. "Everyone?"
"Don't worry; you'll have your share of waiting for the next generation!" Gwaine told him cheerfully with a punch to the arm. "Let's go, Arthur."
Gwaine went to the door of the chambers and passed right on through, and Arthur followed suit with a grin. "This world begins to aggravate," he said with a bit of a sigh. "I guess we don't belong in it."
"That's right," Gwaine said. "Don't worry, Arthur. The next one is so much better. Have you ever seen the Lake of Avalon?"
Arthur blinked. "No, I haven't."
"Well, then. Come on," Gwaine replied, and pushing his hair away, he pointed down the hall like he was leading a charge, and he began to run.
Grinning like a young man again, Arthur followed him straight down the hall and into the next world where everyone was waiting to greet him home.
