This is a horrendously late birthday present (seriously, her birthday was June) for Esther.

I don't own anything.

So wake me up when it's all over
When I'm wiser and I'm older
All this time I was finding myself
And I didn't know I was lost
Avicii, Wake Me Up

I'm coming to get you, Arthur Pendragon.

It's with this thought in his head that Arthur wakes up, drenched in a cold sweat that's becoming all too frequent. The words, spoken in Morgana's bitter voice, replay themselves over and over again in his head as he pants heavily, trying to dispel the terrifying thoughts from his mind. Most of them are memories of creatures he's faced in the years since he became a man, nothing too scary considering he's lived through it—but some are hypothetical situations, things which haven't occurred, things he'd be damned if he let happen.

Gwen lying on purple silk, her eyes closed, her body still; Gwen on fire, screaming for help which noone gave her; Gwen tripping, slipping, falling over the edge of a cliff to meet with the sea below, a body which consumed her without a second thought.

Gwen crying over his body; Gwen finding a knife and throwing it across the room to embed in his chest, killing him; Gwen...Gwen and him lying together, their bodies entwined, not even a twitch of a finger to show any sign of life.

He doesn't care about his own life, not really—it's not as important as Gwen's, or Merlin's, or anyone he governs—but the situations which destroyed Gwen…they're everything he never wants to happen. He never wants to watch her die, doesn't even want to consider the thought of a death until they're old and grey, and he never wants to see her as a killer. All he wants is for her to be the last thing he sees…but not like that.

Never like that.

Slowly, as if to ensure that they were dreams and that his wife continues to live, Arthur looks across to see the outline of a woman curled up under the blankets, her chest rising and falling with each breath. She's alive—and he's never been happier.

He's realised this before, of course he has, usually at one of the many near-death situations they've suffered, but this time was different. This time…this time, he knows that things are near the end. Enemies are crawling out of the brickwork, magic is constantly being used in attempts to end his life, and more than once Arthur's wondered whether he has some sort of guardian angel to save him—and then he realises. Gwen. It's always been Guinevere who has saved him, first from himself and then from everything that's almost destroyed them (not to mention Camelot).

Gently in order not to disturb Guinevere, Arthur lifts the bedsheets and climbs out of bed, the feeling of his feet upon the cold stones a relief from the sweat which continues to pour down his body. From here, he walks across to the window on the far side of the room, the one which looks out over the courtyard, and he lifts the corner of the heavy material covering it.

The moon shines brightly tonight, and Arthur can almost see as well as he can in day—and it's almost as active. The constant threat to their security means that there are double the guards both night and day, and tradesmen are constantly in demand to make new weapons, design new clothing, mend their current stock. Horses slain must be replaced with young ones, ones which require training—training which occurs at night. It's like an entirely different world down there, in the world which is gradually beginning to feel the fear which has gripped Arthur ever since he became King.

The fear that their peace is at an end, and that the final battle is approaching—the final battle which will determine whether good or evil wins, the final battle which determines the fate of everyone residing in Camelot.

"What are you thinking about?"

Gwen surprises Arthur, her voice coming from right behind him, and he thinks immediately that he must have woken her up, that he should have been more considerate of his wife when making the decision to let the light into the room.

"Did I wake you?"

Gwen steps into his line of sight and shakes her head, a slight smile on her face. "I wake up at night sometimes, just to see that you're still there beside me…and that the dream wasn't real. I need to make sure that you're safe."

Arthur lets go of the material, allowing the room to fall back into an almost darkness, meaning he can no longer see the details of Gwen's face; he doesn't need to, though. He memorised her features a long time ago, and he doesn't need that memory as his hand guides itself to her face, resting on her cheek.

"I dreamed of losing you," he admits, just as he always does, because the only person he can tell this to is her. He can't tell anyone, not even Merlin, because a King who dreams only of the safety of his wife isn't a truly loyal King, is he?

(Gwen disagrees, but no matter what she says, he can't wholly believe that he isn't doing something truly wrong.)

They move closer together, so that their bodies are touching, and Arthur can feel her smile in the dark. "Just as I dreamed of losing you," she reminds him. "But you're worried about something else, Arthur, I can feel it. You never normally wake up in this much of a panic."

He's about to deny that he's panicked until he realises that only now, with her touch, is his heart returning to normal, his brow no longer fevered. "I…I think we're close to the end," he confesses, suddenly spent. "I worry that the end is neigh, that Morgana will be able to defeat me and take Camelot—take you—from me. I worry for the sake of my people, for the sake of you, if she manages to take over, because things…things will never be the same again."

"You've held her off before and you've not only survived but you've prospered," she reminds him gently, taking her own hold on his face. She forces him to look at her, and so he stares at where her eyes are, not able to see them but knowing that the brown will hold only sympathy and trust. She trusts him and believes in him explicably, with no doubts.

He just wishes that he could have that same belief in himself.

Now, he shakes his head, frowning. "This time's different. She's stronger and she has a bigger army—and we're weak from the constant fighting. I promised peace and prosperity, Guinevere, and all I've brought…all I've brought is the end!"

He can't hold himself together any longer; he breaks down in tears, tears he will never confess to if asked about in a public setting, and only the feeling of Guinevere's arms around his back stops him from completely falling apart. She's always been able to mend him and put him back together—this time though, he fears he's too badly damaged for it to be worth her while.

"Listen to me, Arthur Pendragon," she says firmly. "You are a true king—the only ruler of Camelot—and you will defeat the enemy. She could have been your closest friend, could have been one of the most important and respected people in this kingdom if she had accepted that you are the true ruler. You have fought off the biggest enemies in all of the kingdom, and it prospers. Oh, Arthur, you don't understand—compared to your father's reign, all people do is comment on how much calmer everything is, how loyal they are to you, how much they respect you. They know that you'll do everything you can to avoid this battle and the bloodshed, but when it comes, you will win. You will do everything for Camelot, as you always have and as you always will…and you will never stop. That's what makes you the true king; that's what makes you the only winner."

As he listens, Arthur realises that his tears have stopped and, as usual, he feels himself coming together once more. She's always been able to save him and he presumes she always will—no matter what the problem, his level-headed wife can always find a solution.

"Thank you, Guinevere," he whispers into her ear, his lips pressing against her skin. "You believe in me far too much."

He feels her shake her head as he moves his lips towards hers. "No, Arthur, I don't; I have to believe in you for the both of us, since you're unable to do it yourself. I could never believe in anyone more than you."

Their lips meet and as usual the fire rages in his stomach at the contact, the final confirmation that as she always is, Guinevere is right. He can win this war; he will put blood, sweat and tears into it if it means that Camelot is free from the rule of his half-sister.

Even if it costs him his life.