Arthur, King of the Britons.
A/N:
Concerning the ending of my story.
Hi all my wonderful readers! I have decided to end this story like this. I will upload the three different endings I have written and you can decide which to read... Or you could read all three. I will upload the three endings soon, until then please enjoy this chapter. Sorry it's so short.
Chapter IX: Silence reigns
Amidst the smoke and the cries of the dying and dead Arthur paused. Silence was descending, they had won, the fires were being doused, the battle was ending, around him woad and Saxon lay amongst each other, contorted in death. Arthur turned his heart crying out to see Guinevere. He looked across the smoking pits of tar and saw Guinevere, she was slowly walking, he saw light gleam near her feet as she knelt.
He found himself running as the smoke shifted to hide her from view. He leapt the small ravine mindless of the dead and dying around his feet. He stopped as Guinevere and those at her feet came into view. Two figures in each other's embrace. He slammed Excalibur into the ground as he knelt beside them. Their faces were deathly pale, their eyes closed. A tear lay still on Igraine's blue stained cheek. He saw the blood pulsing weakly over the wound on her side. And at the same moment noticed the bolt high on Lancelot's left shoulder.
"It was supposed to be me!" he cried as they slipped away from the living. "Not this!" he cried aloud as his knights gathered by their fallen comrade. "Never this..." he looked up at them, tears filling his green eyes. "My brave knights, I have failed you. I neither took you off this island, nor shared your fate..."
A small blood stained hand inched to his and gripped him. He looked down and saw Igraine's hand in his. She was alive! He looked up and saw her pain filled eyes. She was looking past him.
"Do not fail me Merlin..." her whisper was in the language of the Britons. Arthur squeezed her hand, but it fled his touch to settle on Lancelot's face. She whispered something to the dying knight. Arthur wept as she returned her eyes to his pale face, he was loosing her when he had only just found her...
"Morgana..." He leant over her to place a kiss on her brow. And in that moment he was unsure whom he weeping for, her or Lancelot or Tristan... Or all three, but weeping he was, his hand brushing through mingled curls of gold and black as a prayer lifted skyward.
Merlin heard the whisper across the field. The druid hung his head as he began across the fields. He could feel the threads of life fleeing his adopted daughter's body and next to her the knight was nearly gone beyond the veil of death and none returned once the passed into the realms of the dead. He saw the joined figures as woad surrounded them, he knew their markings, the curving symbols of his daughter's warriors surrounded the dying knight and his woad lady.
Merlin watched the figures on either side of Igraine and her knight. Guinevere and Arthur, Briton and Foreigner tied by love and by blood to the land upon which they knelt. He sighed as he walked down the hills and up the other side of a small valley, the earth was soaked with the blood of Briton and Saxon and one lay dead next too the other. But amongst all the death there was hope as silence fell.
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