The blade cuts my flesh right open. I'm flung around by the force of the attack, knees weakening as everything turns into chaos. For a few seconds I just stand there, clutching one of my hands onto the wound, stricken. I barely make out Arthur running towards me before I hit the ground. He says something I can't make any sense out of as I'm dragged into a cold realm, in which the silence deafens me.
I wake up under a starry night sky. Arthur's face is hovering above me, his eyes vigilant and on edge. He asks me how I feel. I lie on impulse, telling him it doesn't hurt that much. He clears his throat and shoots me a glance I'm too exhausted to understand.
"I've seen worse."
His voice sounds small, unconvincing. He tilts his head a bit, eyes rivet on a point somewhere near my shoulder, unable to look at me straight.
"I'm a dead man, aren't I?"
The words fly across my lips like everyday-conversation, yet my mind fails to deal with what is happening. I find myself dripping in cold sweat; a slight light-headedness dominates my senses as well as my thoughts.
Arthur mumbles something incoherent. He looks at me with big eyes, and behind his composed, tough façade I sense something panicking. As if to distract himself he carefully puts pressure on the wound. I restrain myself from screaming, turning my lips bloody in the process. Then, in a sudden, gut-wrenching moment of clarity I grasp the gravity of the situation, and it takes my breath away.
I'm going to die.
As the words go through my mind they seem unreal, laughable even. No, it's too soon. There are so many destinies to yet fulfill, so many injustices to set right, so much life to be lived. I think about the future Kilgarrah promised me of, how the prophecy never mentioned I was to die before Albion rises to its former glory, and how I will not forever remain as Arthur's guardian and companion.
I realise I'm shaking, tears blur my vision. Blood everywhere. I'm paralyzed by fear and yet I've cheated death several times.
"Don't leave me."
My voice cracks, it sounds pathetic but I don't care.
The king looks at me; the paleness of his face stands out in the dark, moonlit glade.
Dying, his beauty still manages to quicken my pulse, still manages to define every single aspect I have come to love about him.
I look down and notice how his fingers entwine mine, his grip firm and so very warm against my skin. For a short moment, my entire being is trapped in his eyes, and I'm taken some place else, where everything is fine and we're standing on top of the world and all of our trials are defeated.
Then something breaks in him, tears well up in his eyes.
"No man's worth your tears, idiot."
His levity puts a smile to my face.
"You're certainly not."
He laughs cordially and it dulls my pain. He pulls me close, intimately, and embraces me like never before.
"You've proven me wrong enough times to admit that's not true."
An invisible weight crushes my chest. I can't speak, can't tell him what I should have told him ages ago. I'm an infant. Speechless.
As I slowly begin to slip away, he tells me things I'd never imagine he'd say. He tells me of how the great King wouldn't have come far without his most loyal servant; his brave, clumsy fool to who he owned everything.
Occasionally he fondles my hair or caresses my cheek, and as I shut my eyes and let his voice carry me away, I die happy in the arms of Arthur Pendragon.
