Disclaimer: It ain't mine and it never will be.

A/N: So folks, this is officially the last chapter, although I may do an epilogue thing. I hope you enjoyed the story, and thank you times 09640967904590390939208 billion to everyone who read or reviewed.

Choices

Chapter 17: Let's Begin Again

The Woad healers had done what they could, but there was little hope now. They had rushed Lena back to the Wall and put her up in the Knight's quarters—Merlin had sent all his best doctors to care for her. They had done everything possible, but all there was to do now was wait. Wait for a movement, wait for a change, wait for any sign of life at all, or wait for death even. Wait for the end.

Was this really the end, then? Was this all that Lancelot got? Were the last few days all the time he would ever have known her? Would he live the rest of his life, however long or short that would be, without ever hearing her voice or seeing her face or holding her hand?

Lancelot watched Lena from a chair in her room. Guinevere had fallen asleep in the bed, beside her unconscious cousin, exhausted from her hysterical sorrow. Merlin had ambled in and out of the room several times, but seemed unable to handle the sight of Lena so pale, feverish, and near death. Each of the Knights had come in to pay their respects, to ask how she was or if there had been any sign of improvement. They had all stood and watched her for a moment or two and then left to wait outside the door, feeling like intruders. Arthur had stayed, mostly for Guinevere's sake, until his lover had fallen asleep, at which time he was called away to deal with some of the aftermath of today's battle. He had not wanted to leave but Lancelot had told him it was fine. He would stay and wait. He was going to either way.

Tristan had come in too. It was surprising, to say the least, seeing as the man was in pretty miserable shape himself. He had stayed the longest of the men, aside from Lancelot. Tristan had stood by Lena's bed and watched her closely for a long while. It might have made Lancelot slightly curious if he himself had had the heart to do anything but watch her as well. It seemed as though Tristan and the Woad were having a silent conversation, as if in his head, Tristan was articulating to her all the things he could and would not say out loud. He had taken her hand and gently pressed his lips to her palm, a simple gesture of gratitude and thanks, a gesture that begged her forgiveness. After that he had left the room with a look on his face Lancelot had never before seen.

And now Lancelot sat waiting still, unable move or sleep or breath or do anything but watch Lena. She was pale, whiter than the cotton sheets that were wrapped around her frail form, a sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead, speaking to the fever that ravaged her weak body, and her breathing was shallow and uneven, Lancelot strained to hear it—the only indication that she was still alive. He watched as Lena took a deep and rattling breath. Dear Gods, if that didn't sound like death he didn't know what did.

The Knight waited for the comforting sound of exhalation, but it did not come. He stood quickly and made his way to the bed, heart beating faster than it had in his entire life. He placed two fingers on her neck to check her pulse; he placed an ear over her mouth, listening to her lungs.

Nothing. Lena was not breathing.

Oh Gods, this could not be the end.

Lancelot shook Lena while calling frantically for a doctor over his shoulder. Guinevere woke beside her cousin and began to panic as well. The Woad healers ran in and pushed both Lancelot and Guinevere aside and Guinevere began to cry again and clung to the Knight hopelessly, as they both watched the healers working over Lena hurriedly.

Lancelot felt his racing heart stop dead in his chest.

This could not be the end.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

There was nothing here. There was no blackness, no whiteness, no color, no movement or form or shape—it was nothingness, simple and overwhelming nothingness.

Voices floated through Lena, above her, around her, below her, into her—voices were all she knew and even they seemed strange and unfamiliar. She knew them somehow, and though the words seemed jumbled and new to her ears—or her soul, whatever it was she was listening with now—she still felt the meaning.

"These two are alive!"

"Wake up, just for a moment."

"They saved us, Lena!"

"You should not go walking alone yet. You are still weak, Lady."

"You could never jig at all, you oaf."

"Tilt back you head, child."

"Lena! You're...you're clean!"

"And who is it you're so worried for, fair Lady?"

"What the hell are you doing?"

"You know nothing of the loss I speak!"

"The gods have brought you back to us!"

"You most of all should know how little death means."

"How good it is to know you are safe!"

"You don't have to save him!"

"I spoke to your cousin earlier. She said that these are my people."

"My journey with you must end here."

"Say goodnight, Lena, not goodbye."

Memories. Memories indefinite in shape but so concrete in feeling that the Woad's heart remembered what her mind, now half-way between two worlds, could not. She had been loved. By whom she could not remember, names and faces were forgotten to her fading soul, but she knew that she had been loved and loved well. All this she left behind, would leave behind very soon.

This love, as comforting as it was, would be gone too in just a few more seconds. It would be extinguished, along with her. Fate had wanted a life, had insisted upon a life, and hers was the life to be taken.

But had Lena had a life before? How could fate take again that which it had already stolen from her? She had been robbed of her life when she was six years old, when she'd been struck down by the Sight and forced to live a half-life. Fate had taken her then, had used her as an instrument of its divine power, her life had not belonged to her for years and years. The knowledge, the wisdom, the weight and burden of it all—that was not life. What she had been given was not life. So how then, could it be taken away?

Three for one.

Three lives saved for one life sacrificed, wasn't that the deal?

Three for one.

Fate was not unkind. It would not ask so much of the one person it had already taken everything from.

Three for one.

Three lives saved for one begun anew.

Three for one.

A life without the burden or the blessing.

Three for one.

Fate had wanted her to die so that she could start again, free this time, free and truly alive.

Three for one.

She could open her eyes, and before her would be a world she had never seen before. One full of life and beauty that she could learn of for herself, not through visions, not through the eyes and hearts of those she did not know. Never again would she be forced to look through others on the world. No more visions, no more talents, no more Sight. The world could do without.

Three for one.

Faces flashed before Lena in the nothingness; faces that she could almost recognize now, faces that were becoming more and more familiar. There was love yet to be shared, jokes and tears and kisses. There were weddings and homes and children to be had. There was a world to be discovered. There was a life, a gift, to be, for the first time, lived.

Three for one.

No, Fate had never been unkind to her. It was repaying her now for its cruelty with the life she had always deserved.

Life.

Lena exhaled.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lena exhaled and the sound wound around the room. It was the sound of a soul leaving a body. The healers stopped what they were doing, and Guinevere noticed before Lancelot had finished listening to that haunting last breath.

"What is going on! What are you doing!" Guinevere insisted. "Why aren't you doing anything!" She sounded regal and furious, but anyone who was really listening knew it was all grief; blind and hopeless grief. The Woads looked to her, a brave one shaking his head, before they ambled out of the room. Guinevere collapsed to the floor, utterly inconsolable.

Lancelot made his way to the bed, and without realizing it had put his hand to Lena's face. His heart wrenched painfully in his chest as Guinevere's sobs echoed through the otherwise dead silent room.

He looked to Lena's pale and lifeless form and ran a hand through her dark hair. She was beautiful still, even now, even like this.

"I love you too." He whispered, his voice low and strained. Lancelot leaned down and placed a kiss on her forehead.

He saw what they all saw but he could not feel it. Lena lay dead before him, but his heart, still knotted in agony, whispered to him again and he could not help but feel it knew best.

This could not be the end.

Lancelot looked back to Guinevere, whose face was buried in her hands. Her sorrow was overwhelming and tangible. Why did he not feel that way too? Why did he feel as though he were waiting for something? Another sound passed through the room, stilling Guinevere's sobs. The Woad looked up to the Knight, who seemed equally perplexed. It was like a great, dry wind was passing through the room; both felt it on their skin and Guinevere's hair fanned out in the draft. It swirled around them roughly and even banged open a window before disappearing altogether.

Three lives saved for one begun anew.

Lancelot stared at Guinevere, hoping for some kind of an answer, but was met only with a scream. The Woad pointed a finger in the direction of the four post bed and Lancelot turned, only to come face to face with Lena, eyes open, sitting upright in her bed. Guinevere screamed again and the Knights ran in, seemingly under the impression that she was in mortal danger. The Woad healers had informed them of Lena's death, so they all stood open mouthed in the doorway upon seeing her quite alive. Lancelot stared at her as well, though he did not harbor the same surprise as the others. He had known all along that this could not be the end…his heart had told him so.

Lena threw back her blankets, jumped from the bed, and took two mounting steps before throwing herself at Lancelot. He caught her and smiled at the grin that was growing across her countenance. Before said grin had time to fully form, however, the Knight stifled it with a kiss. A hard and desperate kiss that Lena returned wholeheartedly.

The Woad pulled away and her smile seemed to grow. "Give me your hand." She instructed, and although Lancelot gave her a questioning look he complied. Lena held his hand in hers and closed her eyes, concentrating hard. Seconds later her eyes flew open again and she let out a surprising and joyous laugh.

"What did you see, Lena?" Guinevere, still in total shock, managed to ask while wiping at the fresh tears (now of joy and confusion rather than overwhelming sadness) that were rushing forth.

"Nothing!" Lena laughed again before worming out of Lancelot's arms and running to her cousin. She placed a hand to Guinevere's tear-streaked face and closed her eyes again, trying to receive some sort of vision. Nothing. Again, nothing. Lena repeated the procedure on each of the Knights, the whole room watching her strangely.

Nothing, not a thing from any one of them. Not a memory or a future or anything at all.

The Sight was gone, she was sure. Not only could she not receive any visions, but her whole body felt different. It was lighter, it was easier to move and breathe and think. She could not see it herself, but her complexion even looked healthier than it had in years. She was stronger. Lena laughed yet again. How incorrectly she had interpreted her last vision! Fate had been showing her the ultimate kindness, not destroying the little fragment of a life she had had.

She was free. Lena was finally free.

She turned back to Guinevere and embraced her tightly. "It's gone." She whispered. "The Sight is gone."

"What!" Guinevere seemed too confused for words at this point. Lena ran a hand over her own stomach. It felt smooth—untouched by any Saxon blade. She rolled up her sleeve and there was no injury on her arm where the Saxon had cut her deep.

"The Sight is gone, and Fate has let me live!" Lena pulled away completely and looked to Lancelot. He seemed to be the only one who really understood. She walked back to him and he snaked and arm around her waist, pulling her close.

Lena looked to Guinevere and the others. "Don't you see?" She seemed impatient, excited. "I had to die, but only so that I could come to life again. Real life. I'm free now…" Her smile widened. "It seems we all are."

The men and Guinevere still seemed lost. The Knight, however, were happy enough to give a "Here, here!" to her last statement and figure things out as they came. Guinevere's head was spinning, but as long as Lena wasn't dead she too overjoyed to care. It didn't matter if the Sight was lost forever. Guinevere looked at Lena and saw for the first time what she had always imagined her cousin should have looked like. Happy and healthy and whole…and alive.

Arthur had rushed into the room at some point and seemed mightily confused as well. He was holding Guinevere now, who was laughing along with her cousin, and although he couldn't help but be a bit concerned, he found it hard to keep the smile off of his face as well.

Lena looked around the room and was overcome by contentedness. Here she was, surrounded by love; unconditional, unburdened love. The kind she had looked for all her life.

She wrapped her arms around Lancelot's neck and he looked down on her with nothing but adoration. Lena grinned like a little child. She didn't know if she could be happier than she was in this moment, holding the man she loved—being held by the man who loved her too.

She had heard him. Even in nothingness, in death, in the dark beyond darkness, his voice had found her, had brought her home.

Lancelot leaned in and whispered to her. "I knew it couldn't be the end." He said earnestly.

"Of course." Lena answered simply, placing a chaste kiss on his dry lips. "It's only the beginning."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

There you go! We've reached the end (unless of course I go through with the epilogue, which I'm not so sure about). Thanks again to all my amazing readers and reviewers, you guys inspire me. This is a little bit sad actually, and I'm not sure I like the end so much. Cheesy, I know, but I figure there had been a pretty high cheese factor throughout the story so why not stick with it to the end? Better than killing her off, right? Well thank you guys again, I've learned a lot throughout this process and I'm both proud and sad to see it end.

Much Love,

Blue