-15-

Arthur woke with a start. He didn't have to look down to know that he had spilled his seed. There was throbbing in his loins that told him that while his mind was now lucid, his body still was not sated.

With a groan, he stood up and walked to the dresser to get a fresh pair of sleep pants. He was still hard and unable to wipe the vision of Guinevere from his mind. It felt more than just a dream; Arthur could still remember the feel of her skin under his fingers, how her lips tasted, how she felt wrapped around him.

Surely, such vivid images were not figments of his imagination? How could he ever make up how perfect she felt in his arms?

Arthur sat back down on his bed, closed his eyes as he dropped his head into his hands. His body was humming with arousal; he needed to be with Guinevere again.

"Again?" He asked aloud. "There is no 'again', Arthur. You were dreaming."

Or was he?

He remembered the other parts of the dream. He saw her in white lace, carrying a bouquet of flowers as she recited words pledging herself to him. He saw himself placing a crown of gold on her head. He saw her wrapped in lavender silk as she gazed out of a window.

These images were as clear as day. Arthur knew that he could not have made these up.

"I'm going crazy," he said as he shook his head. "Guinevere, what have you done to me?"

She called him her king, and she, his queen. Were they just terms of endearment?

"Snap out of it, Arthur," he berated himself. To think of himself as Guinevere's lover was one thing, to imagine himself as king was bordering on madness.

He focused instead on the part of the dream that made him the happiest.

They were married. She pledged herself to him and he to her. A smile spread across his face as he remembered reciting his vow, "I pledge to you that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night, and the eyes into which I smile in the morning."

He met her not 24 hours ago, and here he was, already considering marriage because of what? A dream? A vision? He shook his head again, amazed at his train of thought.

He wanted to be near her. And while it wouldn't take long for him to find out where she lived, he knew that the only thing a late night visit would get him was an interview with the police before a visit to a padded cell.

"This is impossible," he thought. "I just met her!"

But something deep inside him disagreed. It was a voice he had been trying to ignore ever since he started having these...visions. It told him to pay attention, to remember the past, to find out the truth.

What truth? What past? And how did Guinevere fit into his life? He already knew that he wanted more from her than his usual wine, dine, bed, and dash, but marriage? But, as insane as it sounded, Arthur could not find a reason to not consider it.

He closed his eyes, hoping to see the images of Guinevere in his arms and burn them into memory, but instead he was hit with pain so sharply that he almost blacked out.

Fire, a sword sheathed in a massive boulder, castle walls blackened with soot, war, blood—visions and sound flooded Arthur's mind. The thundering of hooves, the clang of metal hitting metal, and the smell of burning wood and flesh assaulted his senses. And just as he began to pray for unconsciousness to claim him, his mind's eye cleared and he saw himself in a massive hall.

It was calm and there was the sound of birds singing outside the tall windows that flanked the length of the room. Trumpets heralded the arrival of some dignitary, but when the heavy wooden doors opened, he saw a woman—dressed in lavender silk and gold lace.

Guinevere.

She walked slowly to him. Shafts of sunlight caught the gold embroidery on her dress and the simple band on her finger. Even in the midst of his pain, Arthur could not suppress the joy he felt in knowing that the piece of jewelry meant that they were now bound as husband and wife.

Husband and wife.

Not King and Queen, but husband and wife. Equals. Partners. The words swirled in Arthur's mind and immediately, the pain was gone.

New images came flooding in, and while they caused Arthur no physical pain, the memories they came with made him feel like he was falling down an endless hole. These were memories closely bound to his relationship with Guinevere: her body ripe with his child, the Queen taking her place among his knights at the Round Table, dancing with him at some banquet, holding back her emotions as he rode out to meet some warlord.

And then came the visions he tried to push away every time they came. The deaths of their children, the kiss with Lancelot, her banishment, her shackled in a filthy dungeon, bloodied after being beaten and abused by an enemy.

Arthur's eyes snapped open and he saw two figures standing, shadowed, in his doorway.

"Arthur," Merlin's voice was clear in the dark.

"Brother," Morgana's was soft and Arthur felt the undercurrent of fear that colored her tone.

Arthur got out of bed and pulled a on a shirt. He walked out of the room without acknowledging the witch and warlock who followed him into the study where their earlier meeting had taken place.

He sat down in the large chair behind the even larger table, and it was clear that this was not the Arthur of earlier that day. This was their King, the regent of Camelot, the great ruler of times past, present, and future.

"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you both right now."

Arthur's tone was conversational, but his words nearly caused Morgana and Merlin to drop to their knees.

"Your promise, Arthur."

"I am aware of my promise, Merlin," he reminded the warlock. "I promised to keep the Queen safe, I promised to make myself worthy of her, I promised not to fail her love, I promised to be her champion..."

Arthur's voice cracked.

"You promised to redeem her name," Morgana reminded him gently. "And we swore that we would make it happen."

He nodded and looked to the side, hoping to hide his tears from his audience.

"I promised her the end of my days."

Arthur cleared his throat and looked at the man and woman standing before him.

"And is this it?" He asked them. "Is this our final chance?"

Merlin nodded. "If you fail this time, my lord, Morgana and I will die. Never to live again."

"And the magic you hold?"

"Will die as well," Morgana said. "The balance will tip in the favor of darkness and you will perish."

"Guinevere?"

"Will survive, forget Camelot, forget who she is, and live the last of her lifetimes as a shell of her greatness."

"Albion?"

"Albion will fall."

Arthur was silent for a long moment. Merlin and Morgana did not move, looking only at the King who seemed to be lost in thought.

"I need her with me," he said so softly that it was nearly impossible to hear. "I cannot bear to be without her."

Witch and warlock exchanged looks. Their powers made them empaths, and Arthur's despair bored deep into their hearts.

"Will she know that I remember?"

"Not unless you tell her." Morgana could not remove the tremble in her voice. Arthur's pain from losing Guinevere was palpable and it was all she could do to not to wail from the agony of it.

"Thank you," Arthur looked at them. "You may go."

A bow and a curtsey, and then Arthur was alone. He opened the middle drawer of the large desk and withdrew a small silver box. He lifted the lid and, inside, nestled within a bed of deep crimson velvet, was a heavy ring.

Guinevere's ring.

Arthur removed it from its plush nest and slid it onto the last digit of his left hand.

"She will wear it again," he promised himself. "Or I will die trying."