A/N: This is it! The last chapter! Fun fact, I've written this one and the last two in a single evening, and I fully intend to write the epilogue as well before I go to bed. Fortunately, my work is on a two hour delay tomorrow (yay for snowstorms!), so I can sleep until 8, rather than 6, as it's after 12:30 now.

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

.*.*.*.*.*.

"Arthur!"

The king turned at the sound of his name, searching what remained of the melee for the source of the call. He saw Dagonet jogging towards him, Daniel on his heels. "We found Nimue," Dagonet explained as he came to a stop in front of Arthur. There was a cut across the boy's cheek, and he seemed to be bleeding from a gash along the left side of his ribs, but he didn't appear to be badly injured.

"Show me," Arthur ordered, setting off behind the boys.

They led him towards a bundle of dingy white rags near the edge of the forest. As they grew nearer, Arthur recognized the pile as Nimue's body. Her snow-white gown was covered in mud and greyed by smoke from the burning tar and wood, and the front of the gown was soaked in her own blood that had spilled from a wide gash across her neck. Her face was frozen in shock, and she looked somehow even more gaunt than she had the evening before.

"Morgana?" Arthur asked as he knelt to draw Nimue's eyes closed.

"No sign of her," Dagonet replied. "It looks like she escaped."

"We'll look for her while we search the field," Arthur said. "We can't send anyone after her right now."

"I'll spread the word," Daniel nodded and took off.

"Are you alright?" Arthur turned to Dagonet when he was on his feet again.

"Nothing I haven't felt before," Dag grinned. "I could use a hand getting this off, though." He waved his right arm and what was left of the wooden shield strapped to it. The buckler had cracked down the center, and several chunks of it had been taken out over the course of the night.

Arthur smiled and stepped forward to undo the straps around the boy's arm.

"Thanks," Dag grinned, shaking out the now free limb as Arthur fastened the straps into a loop to sling over Dag's shoulder.

After the boy had jogged off, Arthur stood and looked around the field. Most of the battle was over, although a few Woads were still fighting against his knights. Other knights and some of Ganis's men had begun to carry the wounded back towards the fort. Arthur could see the gates open in the distance, with several guards in front of them to keep out any Woads that thought it might be a good idea to try to get inside. He sighed and started forward, reluctant to find out the cost of the battle.

.*.*.*.*.*.

Up on the Wall, Branwyr let out a sigh of relief as the wind blew the last of the fog and smoke away and the morning sun illuminated a nearly empty field beyond the Wall, occupied only by the bodies of the Woads Bran and her archers had felled. Beside her, Tristan yawned hugely, and Bran couldn't help but laugh.

"Go on home," she said, ruffling the boy's dark hair. "Take Tyra and Sebille with you. Get some rest. There will still be work to do when you wake up."

"Okay," Tristan nodded sleepily. He headed down the Wall to fetch the girls, then the three descended the stairs down to the fort and disappeared among the low buildings.

"What about us?" Elyan's voice sounded strained, heavy with exhaustion.

"We'll watch for a while longer," Bran replied, her own voice thick. "The last thing we want is for a second wave to come up over the wall as soon as we let down our guard."

Elyan nodded and stifled a yawn as he turned to look back out over the Wall. "What about the others?"

Bran turned to look out over the battlefield beyond the fort. "There are a lot of bodies," she said finally. "Even I can't tell from here whose they are. We'll find out later what happened with Father and the others."

Elyan nodded again, leaning against the battlements as he chewed on his lip.

Bran rested a hand on his arm and met his soft blue eyes with her own dark brown. "Father's survived this long. He'll be alright."

"It's not him I'm worried about so much as Grandfather," Elyan admitted. "He was too old to fight; I told him so, and he clocked me over the head."

Bran grinned. "He's fierce. I'm sure he's fine, too. He lived through fifteen years here in Britain, and how many back in Sarmatia?"

Elyan replied with a slight smile. "You're right. I'm sure he's fine."

.*.*.*.*.*.

Ban, Bors the Elder, and Pellinore sat side by side on the ground near the treeline. "It's like we never left," Pellinore murmured, looking out over the field. Arthur's men were picking through the bodies of the Woads and their companions, killing any surviving Woads and moving injured soldiers back to the fort.

"Almost," Ban agreed.

"Almost?" Bors arched an eyebrow.

"Well, I don't know about the two of you," Ban groaned as he struggled to his feet, "but I am certainly getting far too old for this sort of thing. Best to leave it to the young ones from now on."

Bors clambered to his feet as well, grumbling. "Who are you calling old?"

"You're older than either of us, my friend," Ban laughed, clapping Bors on the back.

"You were the oldest of any of us back then," Pellinore chuckled, joining his friends on his feet. "And you were probably the oldest person on the battlefield last night."

Bors crossed his arms and grumbled darkly, his words unintelligible. Ban laughed again and slung an arm over the old man's shoulders. "Come. We should help search the bodies."

.*.*.*.*.*.

Gawain stood still, looking across the field, searching for one figure in particular. The rain and snow had slowed to a drizzle that was little more than a mist, which kept his soaked curls plastered to his forehead, face, and neck. He had sheathed his daggers and tried to wipe the blood from his hands, to no avail. Mud mingled with the blood on his armor, and droplets of water made tracks through the stains as the mist collected on the metal and leather.

His breath left his lungs in a rush when he finally found the figure he had been searching for. Her wool hood was muddy, and her leathers were slick with blood and dirt. Her chestnut curls had escaped their braid to frame her face, but clung to the pale skin of her face. She caught sight of him a few seconds later and he saw her relax as her face smoothed into a small smile.

Gawain made his way across the field strewn with bodies, and Cymbeline likewise began to move towards him. She broke in a run before he did, and met him with a wild leap up into his arms, clasping her arms tightly around his neck in a powerful embrace; his arms wrapped around the small of her back, drawing her close. After a moment, she loosened her grip enough to move her head so that she could press her lips against his. Gawain could feel her smile as he returned the kiss, pulling her even closer to him and ignoring the ache in his right shoulder as he taxed the muscles there.

When they finally broke apart to catch their breath, Gawain shifted his grip on Cymbeline's waist, lifting her higher so that she could hook her legs over his hips and supporting most of her weight with his left arm. She cradled his face in both hands, pushing his wet hair back before she kissed him again, then pressed her forehead to his, letting her arms drop onto his shoulders.

"Are you alright?" Gawain whispered, feeling the gash in the leather across her back.

"Hardly a scratch," Cymbeline smiled as his fingers traced along her back. "You?"

"A bruise or two," Gawain grinned, his hand falling back down to aid the other arm in supporting her weight.

Cymbeline leaned down and kissed him again, gently this time, her lips lingering against his. They stayed like that for long minutes, until the muscles in his arms began to tremble with the strain of supporting her, protesting at the work after the long night of fighting. She felt the tremors that began to pass through his arms and leaned back slightly. "You can let me down," she teased, rubbing her nose against his.

"Marry me?" he asked suddenly, meeting her wide brown eyes with his own deep blue ones. He watched as her eyes widened even further in surprise, water dripping from her eyelashes to leave tracks through the mud and blood on her cheeks.

Slowly, her lips spread into a wide smile and she leaned down for another long, deep kiss. When they broke apart, she rested her forehead against his again, her eyes closed as she whispered a single word: "Yes."