Arthur, King of the Britons.
A/N: This is the happy ending!
Chapter X: Whispers of joy.
Arthur brushed his fingers over the pale skin. Sweat beaded Igraine's forehead as the fever burned her wounded body. He shook his head. With the deep wound to her side she should not still be alive but the Woad's had carried her and Lancelot from the field and Merlin had sat with them for many hours and when Arthur had finally been allowed in he had fund her just as she was now. Just barely clinging to life, Lancelot was better then Igraine, the arrow had missed his vital organ's and had looked worse than it was. As if thinking of him had called him back from the abyss, Lancelot stirred. He had so often during the last few days, calling again and again for Igraine before settling back into the darkness of the unconscious.
Arthur turned to him and watched as Lancelot thrashed and muttered darkly. Arthur stood and moved to his friend as alarm ran through him. He watched for a moment before carefully restraining his oldest friend. If Lancelot wasn't careful he would pull the stitches that had closed his weeping wounds. Arthur waited until his friend ceased his moving before releasing him, still Lancelot seemed half awake, suddenly his dark eyes opened, blearily they focused on Arthur.
A groan fell from the stiff pale lips. "Ahhh, not again." Arthur felt a smile curved his lips.
"That's what I thought when we found you had lived through whatever the Woads did to you." He joked to his friend. Lancelot frowned, a sigh fell from his lips as something faded from his eyes.
"Then it was a dream..." he whispered, pain evident in the way tears gathered in the wounded knights eyes.
"What was friend?" asked Arthur softly as Lancelot slipped back towards sleep.
"She was..." Arthur blinked. And then laughter broke free of him in great peals. Lancelot opened his eyes and glared as well as he could in his condition. Arthur forced himself to stop laughing and leant close to his friend's ear.
"If you mean Igraine, then I am sorry, but she is real." He pulled back as Lancelot's eyes widened. He stepped aside so Lancelot could see the figure lying on the opposite pallet.
"Is she..." he began, his face even paler than it had been. Arthur nodded.
"They tell me she'll live, though how I know not, she should be dead, and you by all reason should be far worse if not dead, I was sure that arrow had pierced your lungs but they say not." Lancelot frowned.
"I remember... I, I was shot, I remember not being able to breathe, I remember coughing blood. I remember Igraine coming to me on the field." Lancelot frowned. "I was dying." Arthur looked away, his own certainty still had not bee dispelled. "I was dying Arthur! I knew it, and she too, she was mortally wounded..." Arthur nodded.
In a soft voice he whispered. "I know... And I thank god for every moment you still breathe. Every single moment." He squeezed his friends shoulder as tears fell from his eyes.
"But how?" asked Lancelot, his voice faint.
"I care not friend, if you and she are still alive... I care not!" he said the last with the air f one who wished he did not know what he was saying. Lancelot nodded weakly. Arthur waited with his friend until once more he was asleep. Then wiping at his face he turned towards Igraine. He gasped at the sight of her sitting upright, her blue eyes shadowed as she regarded him.
"Do not weep brother. All is well." He let out a cry as he stumbled into her outstretched arms.
"Do not weep Arthur." She repeated softly.
"I thought that just as I understood who you were you would leave me." She shook her head.
"I'll never leave you brother." She whispered into his soft curls. He pulled back and looked down at her.
"And I'll never leave you, Morgana." She smiled. "Do not name me so Arthur. Gana means betrayal. That was the curse my father named me with that all would know my mother had betrayed him with your father." He placed his hand on her cheek.
"And what does Igraine mean?" he asked softly.
"Sorrow." She said with a gentle smile.
"That is better?" he asked through soft chuckle's.
"By far when spoken with love." She smiled and he was struck by just how strong she was, how beautiful, how precious to him. Gently he released her.
"Sleep then Igraine, for I fear you will tire easily, and I suspect Lancelot will wake shortly, and judging by his love of you will want to talk to you." She nodded and lay back a smile curving her lips with happiness. Within moments she was sleeping, he stayed, watching over him until Guinevere came to fetch him for dinner.
Lancelot slipped from his pallet and in the darkness he made his way to the pallet almost blind, he cursed as his shoulder ached, and coughs racked him. A gasp echoed through his coughs as Igraine started upright.
"Lancelot?" she asked. His heart soared, within moments they were holding each other as though they feared the other was not real.
"I love you." He whispered. She pulled back and tenderly he kissed her.
"I love you." She whispered and happiness blossomed in his heart, the seeds she had planted there came to full bloom, banishing his darkness forever.
And outside even the wind seemed to whisper their happiness to the world. And Arthur lying with Guinevere somehow knew that tomorrow the world would be a little bit better, a little brighter... Nearby Lancelot lay beside Igraine in a darkness filled with happiness...
The End.... Or not?