Set before the battle of Camlann. Merlin doesn't warn Arthur about the path that Morgana will use to ambush them, and that event is replaced by this meeting. I apologize if the title is incorrect (Until We Meet Again) but I used Google so, yeah. Read, review and enjoy.

Arthur couldn't sleep, not even with his wife by his side with her arm strewn across his midsection, even though her presence was supposed to calm him down. Cold wind silently slipped through the flaps of the tent, its tendrils whispering cruel taunts in his ears as they wrapped themselves all around him; his body, his hands, his legs, as though binding him in place. Arthur wondered if it was the work of Morgana; he wouldn't be at all surprised if he found a dragon breathing fire in his tent at this point.

Arthur…

He sat up slowly, dislodging Guinevere's hand from its grip. How strange, that before they wed she was known as Gwen, the kind but rather dull maidservant to Morgana. And yet, after being crowned Queen everyone bowed low and called her 'My Lady', even Merlin. He shook his head; the eerie wind blowing in the air tonight was filling his head with strange, unsavoury thoughts.

Arthur…

He stood and drew his sword, careful not to wake Guinevere.

Arthur…

He stood in the middle of the tent, brandishing the blade of Excalibur, mesmerized as the dim lights of the oil lamps shone on the scratched silver. He could almost see the sparks that flew with every block and parry and cut the legendary blade made. Gay laughter and soft hugs and kisses reminded him that once, not long ago –and yet, it seemed an eternity and more- another sort of spark flew and encircled and danced around him, and her.

"Arthur." He turned around slowly and drank in the sight of her. Even in a torn, rough woolen dress with her hair piled in a wild braid flying about her, she looked beautiful. So much more beautiful than the dutiful figure who stood silently beside him in silks and velvets of red and blue and purple. Duty. How he hated that word. Being dutiful meant standing by his father as he executed countless of innocent druids. It meant always placing Camelot before his own needs, to see that his kingdom had the vengeance it craved after the blood of innocents were spilt on its cobbled paths. Being dutiful meant fighting against Morgana, day in day out as they spat and snarled and exhausted their men and themselves to cease this never ending war. Being dutiful meant that he was duty bound to kill her in the end, for his father, for his slain knights, for Camelot.

It meant that he could never hold her in his arms anymore and begged for her forgiveness, for his neglect and arrogance and persecution of her and her people. It meant that he could never apologize for taking another Queen when he had sworn to her, long ago in the height of passion and love when they were all so guileless, that she'd forever be his true Queen.

"Hello Morgana."

She inclined her head in a slight nod. "Arthur."

He stared back at her calmly, "I'm surprised my knights didn't stop you."

She didn't respond to that, only gazed at the sleeping Guinevere, eyes impassive, dead. "She seems so happy. I could have had that, once. The crown, the throne, you. They were all at my feet and now, I have lost everything." She laughed bitterly, "How poetic, that the kind, gentle maidservant of the evil sorceress be Queen over her. That she be given all that was mine; she who was once a nothing," she spat, "now has everything."

Arthur looked on, tired. "What do you want Morgana?"

She gazed at him from the corner of her eyes, amused. "Not going to give me the 'what happened to you Morgana' speech, Arthur?" She smirked, "I suppose you've always been a fast learner."

He lowered his sword and pushed a chair towards her before falling into one himself. "You shouldn't be here Morgana. My men are littered across camp; they will realize that you're here eventually." To this, she waved her hand offhandedly, curling into the wicker chair comfortably as she stretched. "You didn't think I would be that stupid now dear Arthur?" She examined her fingernails, broken and chapped and blunt from fighting. "Everyone's asleep," she looked pointedly at him and he realized that once again, she had cast her magic over his men, "so that we can have a nice chat."

They remained silent for a while before she spoke. "I'm tired Arthur." Behind the wild hair and fierce gleam in her eye, Morgana ever remained the little girl who couldn't find her way home. She played with the tattered hem of her dress, "I want to go home, but I can't." And Arthur wanted so bad to reach out and touch her, gather her in his arms as he always did whenever she had a nightmare. He wanted to love her but by God, everyone wouldn't let him. He sighed, what good was it to be King if all you can do is listen to everyone warning you from finding the woman you loved again?

"You can still come back with me Morgana." She stared at him as if he had some mental affliction. "Your people will never allow it. Your knights, Gaius, Merlin, Gwen. They'd run me out the first chance they'd get." He slammed his hand against the hand rest of the chair. "Then damn them all! We all had a part to play in your betrayal Morgana! I am King, not they." This time he reached out to her, "I want you to come back Morgana. You belong back in Camelot, with me."

She gazed at his hand, and for a moment Arthur thought she would take it. "It's too late Arthur. Things have been set in motion that we cannot stop them." She smiled sadly at him, and he caught a glimpse of the smiling eyes and pouting grins of the girl and woman he once knew and loved. "Tomorrow, we play our parts as we are wont. You, the brave, majestic king of Albion and I, the hated High Priestess who shows no mercy towards her enemies." She slowly placed her hand in his and he gripped it tight, her next words warming him more than hundreds of fur pelts ever could. More than your wife's touch ever could, his mind whispered gleefully at him. "But tonight, we rest." She grinned slightly at him, "And perhaps, talk as we used to."

He grinned back, but the smile fell off his face. "I truly am sorry Morgana. I never meant to neglect you as I did." Frustrated fingers swept through his sleep tousled blonde hair, "I was so blind, I should have listened to you when you said that your dreams were becoming worse." A sigh breathed through his wind-chapped lips. "I should've been there for you, should've held you through the nights and not," he waved his hands in the air and Morgana couldn't help but let out a small giggle at his gestures, which he rewarded with a lopsided grin, "run off like some love sick boy after Gwen." His jaw tightened, "As horrible as this sounds, I have absolutely no idea why I was so besotted with her."

She laughed outright at that, "Are you sure that she's not the witch instead Arthur?" He grimaced, "Merlin's stupidity must be rubbing off of me. I suppose," he paused, thinking his next words through, "I suppose that I thought her refreshing, after all the pointless balls and engagements father arranged." He smiled weakly at her. "I didn't really need to look that far actually. I simply forgot that you were there." He squeezed her hands tightly, gently. "I hope you can forgive me Morgana. I know I haven't done anything to deserve your forgiveness, but perhaps you could find it within yourself to forgive this foolish King."

She knelt before him, cradling his face within her palms. Morgana kissed him, low at the corner of his mouth and whispered, "I have already forgiven you Arthur." He held her close then, breathing in the fresh scent of her hair. "Morgana, my Morgana. Forgive me, I have abandoned you. I love you I love you."

And twin slivers of precious tears fled down Morgana's cheek, landing on the chiseled jaw of the man holding her. Her arms snaked around his neck, and as they clutched onto each other, they whispered broken words of 'I'm sorry' and 'I love you' and 'Please forgive me', the Queen-who-was-not-meant-to-be-yet-was lying unheeded behind, oblivious to the murmured words of love of the two star-crossed lovers.

As dawn streaked across the sky with brilliant bursts of orange and red, Morgana untangled herself from Arthur's embrace, laughing as she tripped over his outstretched feet. She kissed him one last time before straightening and leaving.

"Wait." He couldn't let her go, not just yet.

She turned to him and smiled, "Wait for me Arthur, as the last breath of life leaves your body, as you see my eyes stare at you, wide, unseeing, lifeless. Wait for me and we will rejoice once more in Avalon, where the apple trees grow and magic soars above the sky. Wait for me my love, and I will bring you home." He held her for one last time before she slipped out of his grasp, gone with the lingering shrouds of night.

And as King and High Priestess readied for battle on the grassy plains of Camlann that would be soon stained red with the blood of men, they whispered once more to the other, vows flying across the grounds and into their hearts.

And I will wait for you even through Death. Until we meet again, my Love.