Leave me 'Please don't die' in my ask and I'll write a feelsy Drabble about my muse dying in your muse's arms.
—— Death was supposed to be painful, a screaming rage of anguish and pain that left blood splattered people saddened beyond anyone’s imagining. When Morgana’s dagger pushed into Guinevere’s chest there was no pain, no flash of memories flickering before her eyes. All she got was the look of pure elation on the face of the woman she’d once cared about more than anything. Morgana had done her bidding and slain the woman who’d taken her throne.
“You stole my crown.” Morgana whispered in Gwen’s ear, her voice so low and full of delight that the words came out in the most sinister way possible. “It seems only fair that I take your life.”
Little beads of electric charge coursed through Guinevere’s veins, starting at the tip of the dagger and igniting her body with sheer adrenaline. On and on it went until the charge turned into a discomfort and then an ache, which truly was not that bad when compared to the pain Guinevere had imagined. She found herself thinking that, if this was the only pain she would feel then mayhaps dying was not such a bad thing. And then Morgana twisted the blade and a ripple of pain jumped from her heart to the very tips of her fingers, it was like hot, molten fire moving beneath her skin and Guinevere could do nothing to stop the blood-curdling scream that erupted from her lips. She was nothing, not anymore, the pain had taken her entirely and, Gwen yearned for the eminent death like a child does its mother. She could not move but let her entire weight fall against Morgana’s body until the wicked sorceress was all that kept Gwen upright, as if she were all that was left to anchor the Queen to this world.
“Looks like your Knight in shining armour has arrived, such a shame he’s too late.” Guinevere did not understand Morgana’s words, and when the blade was ripped from her chest she could not find it within her to care either. They’d been friends once, the best of friends, and enemies only because Gwen could not stand at Morgana’s side at she slaughtered innocence but now, on this darkened night, Guinevere had nothing to say when Morgana disappeared into thin air. The witch was gone and Guinevere was crashing to the floor. Her knees made no collision though; instead she was wrapped in warm and familiar arms that pulled her close to an equally warm body. Morgana had said her Knight in shining armour had arrived … Arthur?
Only then did she realise the pain had somehow deprived her senses to the goings on of the world around her, she had not even noticed the arrival of her husband.
“Guinevere?” the sound of his voice called her back. “No, no, no—“ she could hear the words on his lips but they were spoken so low that she couldn’t decide if they were meant for her … or perhaps the pain of death had somehow ruined her ability to hear.
Everything around her felt blurry and out-of-sync, she barely had strength enough to speak to him and a simple “—You found me…” was all she could manage, even then her voice was croaky and came out uneven. "I’m sorry —I couldn’t…"
In truth, Guinevere did not understand why she was apologising. All she knew was that when all this was over and done with, she would find peace and he would be forced to return to a life without her. If there roles were reversed Gwen did not know what she’d do, how she’d go on living day-to-day without the hope of finding him asleep beside her every night. She was sure a life like that would be terrible indeed, dying was easy. Life was harder. She apologised because, by leaving him, she was condemning him to a life of loneliness.
“No, don’t –don’t apologise.”
She couldn’t find it in her to reply. All Guinevere could manage was to look up at him; if she was going to die then he’d damn well be the last thing she ever saw. His expression was like nothing else, she’d known him more than ten years and never seen anything close to the despair she found on his face in that moment. His usually shining eyes were filled with tears; she found it queer that he bothered. Gwen had only ever seen him cry a handful of times.
Her eyes flicked down to watch his hand as it moved into her eye line, it was stained with blood.
“Please … Guinevere, please don’t die. You can’t die.” He was begging. It overwhelmed her with an emotion that eclipsed the pain in her body.
“I love you.” She sobbed. “I love you so much.”
The pain was gone. The anguish too. All Guinevere had left was the knowledge that she loved Arthur more than she’d ever thought it possible to love another and the pressure of his arms as he continued to hold her against his body.
“You’re not going to die. Guinevere, you can’t. Listen to me!” She could hear the empty-hope in his words. She knew he did not believe his own words.
“’I can feel it, I am dying I can- …’M so sorry.”
She couldn’t speak anymore. Not just because there was nothing more to say but because the pain in her throat had trapped the words in her throat. She wanted desperately to tell him she loved him and that she would always love him, to make sure he understood that this was not the end for the two of them and one day they would be together again. More than anything she wanted to hold him and kiss him and wipe his tears away, she yearned for his smile. That smile he’d given her hundreds of times before –- when he’d teased her at his bedside, at dinner inside her house, when she’d treated his wounds and told him that one day things would be different, one day they would find happiness. The memories flickered through her mind like a slideshow of the life she led. Of course, other faces were there too; Elyan, her father, Merlin and Gaius, but Arthur was the most prominent.
“Guinevere?” she could hear his voice, but was it real or a memory? The question was the last thought on Gwen’s mind as the memories faded to black and all sense of pain ceased from her body. Death followed, not in a bang but a fading whisper that grew quieter and quieter until …nothing…
