Death had met him before, of course. Death knew everyone.
It was the first time she'd fought beside him, though. Judging by the chains of Destiny that were already wrapped tight around this splinter of a universe and by the way she kept losing track of time, it might well be the last.
They were losing. Losing badly.
There was a ring of magic stones around this spot, though, and Stubbornness was still hurling everything he had at the enemy from within it, so she let herself slide through the gaps between worlds until she stood over the pile of bones within the circle that someone had long ago buried there.
Stubbornness turned, snarling, only to relax when he saw it was her. "Reinforcements. Good." The magic surrounding them flickered. For just a moment, she felt all the helplessness of fate.
Stubbornness growled and lunged forward. He hit one of the stones. The shields came back up. "What's wrong with your brother?"
Death could move now, but she didn't particularly want to. "Magic's gone. She broke him."
He hissed. "That's unfortunate. Are everyone's shields falling then?"
"She got Courage too," she said dully. "And without them . . . "
"We're it," he realized.
She nodded and waited for whatever scraps of courage he'd held on to fail.
He tossed her one of the strange weapons he'd been using. "Her lackeys charge up the hill about every five minutes. We're due for another attack."
Death's hands curled around the weapon. It fit naturally. They always did. "I'm not enough to beat Destiny and Time," she warned him. "They'll break us too."
"Let them try," he snarled, taking up position behind one of the stones.
Stubbornness, she remembered. A smile curved her lips. Magic would have liked this one.
She took up position opposite him so she could watch his back.
Behind her, Stubbornness suddenly laughed. "Death and the stubborn will to live. Who better to take a stand at the end of the world?"
Fate's minions were running up the hill. Destiny aimed her weapon.
The magic flickered beside her.
She fired.
Morta didn't want to kill him. She had seen him in her dreams frequently, and somtheing about those visions disturbed her more than any of the others did.
She didn't want to kill him, but if he kept breaking into her house, she would have to start to wonder if he wanted to be killed. Just what made the man think that breaking into an Unseelie fortress was a good idea?
"Well?" she demanded, tapping her foot. The guards holding him tightened their grip to encourage an answer.
"Heal my brother, and I'll leave you alone," he promised.
She laughed. "Heal? Who do you think I am? They call me Lady Death for a reason, mortal. These hands don't heal." She strode forward and grabbed his arm. The flesh crumbled under her hand, decaying until her hand was wrapped white bone.
If it weren't for the guards, he wouldn't be standing. His face had gone as white as the bones in his arm.
She let go and backed away. The flesh restored itself.
She wondered if he would die. Mortals sometime died from the shock.
He forced himself to stand straight. "Heal my brother from the Seelie curse laid upon him, and I'll leave you alone."
Ah. That was a different matter. "What do they call you, mortal?"
His mouth twisted. "My village calls me Stubborn Thomas."
She laughed, high and clear. She liked him. And there was something admirable in his persistence.
"Make me laugh twice more, Stubborn Thomas, and I will grant you this boon."
Traditionally, she knew, she should have someone send to Lord Myrddin for a magic that would keep him from laughter so she could watch the mortal fail.
But she liked him, and it had been a long time since she laughed, so she sat back and for once let the contest be fair.
The Reaper stared at the man incredulously. "You? Again?"
Cephas held on tighter to the crate that was all that was keeping him afloat on the storm tossed sea. "Still alive," he muttered stubbornly.
"Of course you are." She wished she had proper eyes. It was hard to roll sockets. "You know, I could save you a lot of pain if you'd just let me - " She poked him with her scythe.
"N-Nope," he said through chattering teeth. "Ne-Never know what might happen. Could still make it." His eyes were drifting closed though, and if he fell asleep it really would be the end.
She hesitated. There was a ship that was just close enough to give him a chance if it spotted him. He could make it, but only if he stayed awake.
She sighed. She had grown too fond of him to give him up now.
She poked him with the scythe again. He glared at it.
"So tell me what you've been up to since the last time. How'd you get here from the guillotine?"
A familiar glint came into his eyes.
She drifted among the battlefield dead. The mourning cry her kind was called to sing tore from her lips as it did from her sisters'.
For once, it didn't seem enough. Not for Arthur's grave.
One knight stood swaying in the center of the field. She curved to drift around him, but his arm shot out and grabbed hers.
"I know you," he said hoarsely.
She looked at the blood staining his stomach. He wouldn't be standing for much longer.
She remembered him. Not the memories of his life, like she was supposed to, but memories of other things. Other lives.
His strength was failing, but his grip wasn't. "I know you," he insisted.
She took his arms and helped lower him to the ground. "I know," she told him. "Come find me next time."
She didn't like this body. It made her feel helpless. Weak.
She didn't know how she should feel, but this wasn't it.
She knew, though, knew bone deep, that she loved Merlin and should be kind to Arthur. Those were just a mother's instincts, though, surely.
There had been other things too, though. Things like how twenty years ago, when a man who had stubbornly survived everything Camelot had thrown at him showed up at her door, she had known she could trust him. Things like how she was sure she had met him before.
Things like how she hadn't had to wait for Merlin to bring her word of Balinor's death. Something in Hunith already knew.
