Summary: Arthur has been mortally wounded by Cusack, and Zeldris comes to take a look at the mysterious young man with so much power. But when he is face-to-face with a scenario that is uncomfortably familiar, he seeks a way to save them both.

A/N: This is a little... oneshot? head canon? ramblings of an insane woman? I told this story off the top of my head to Starrynightgazer, Galfridus, and Baconwaffle in a chat ages ago, enjoyed their tears, and then promptly forgot about it until it was presented to me all formatted as a birthday gift. I hope you enjoy this mix of angst and comfort.

I know you...
I walked with you
Once upon a dream.
—Sleeping Beauty

He walks over to where Arthur is sleeping. He remembers the young man who had come in and challenged them, the power that emerged unexpectedly, and the way that Cusack had dealt with him so swiftly. Zeldris wants to take another look, still confused about the sheer amount of power that came from a human. Even if he is the king of Camelot like he claims, and can wield the sword, the level of power he had was unexplainable.

So he steps over quietly, his face fixed into a deep frown. His eyes settle on the wound in his chest where Excalibur is still piercing him through. Merlin was smart to not take it out, but it will do no good. The human will die no matter what they do. Not that it matters to Zeldris either way.

His eyes travel up the form-what a waste, he thinks-and then settles on the sleeping face of the king. Something inside Zeldris sparks, making him flush. The king looks almost... beautiful. His boyish features betray the handsomeness underneath, making the king appear younger than he is. Arthur, he remembers... that is his name.

His hair is a dark auburn, reminding Zeldris of a sunset... something he had never appreciated until she had come along. Because sunset meant the night was approaching, and that meant he would see her again. Zeldris shakes his head, blinking the memory away, but his eyes remain on the face, memorizing it as he wonders why this human, out of all the hundreds and thousands he had ever encountered, stirs something within him.

Zeldris frowns again, trying to remember what Arthur's eyes looked like. Then his heart seizes as he brings up the picture-they were violet, just like hers.

Now he feels a burning in his throat, his breaths coming deeper as he tries to get ahold of himself. He should end the king right now: he is another bothersome human in his way, another enemy to kill so that he can get what he wants.

Zeldris reaches out and takes hold of the sword's hilt. He will pull it out, and let the king bleed to death here on this table. Good riddance to him. It will feel good.

But then he hesitates. Zeldris stares at his hand on the sword, knowing he could never pull it from Arthur's chest. His arm is trembling slightly, and he realizes what he wants is for his eyes to open, to hear his voice again, to see him wield this power one more time. What it is about this human he does not know, but something calls to him, and Zeldris needs to know why.

He looks back at the king's face, still asleep. When was the last time Zeldris had felt such peace, such contentment? Three thousand years, probably, before his betrayal to himself and his love.

So he leans down, closing his eyes, and presses his lips on the king's, kissing him softly, wondering if this human is how his heart will finally heal.

Arthur's lips are softer than Zeldris had expected. He wraps his own around the plump flesh, running his tongue out to taste him. It is so different from the sweetness of the only other kisses he has ever known; this one is somehow richer, the tang of salt and blood and the hint of electricity underneath it all. But it is not unpleasant, not in the least, and Zeldris lingers another moment, then another, then another.

He is unwilling to let go and return to the death of the war and the waiting of his life, so the kiss continues. It is peaceful somehow, to be here in his brother's tavern, surrounded by quiet and stillness. Zeldris rubs his lips against the king's wishing more than anything that Arthur would somehow respond, that he could feel him warmly return the kiss.

But then, Arthur moves against him. His chin tilts up, and Zeldris swallows a gasp as they king's lips slant against his. The pressure is faint, but there, and the demon cannot bear to look. He squeezes his eyes shut and returns the kiss, just as gentle, but his heart pounding wildly inside his chest.

Arthur pants against him, a quick little breath that escapes through his lips, and Zeldris takes the opportunity to slip his tongue in between and finally have his taste. It is even richer than he had imagined, a heavy sort of sweetness that reminds him of the training fields and deep droughts of ale and cold mornings. Zeldris gives a quiet moan, wanting more, but how? How is this happening?

He feels Arthur shift, and with a noise of surprise he snaps backwards, their eyes finally meeting. Arthur has the same shade as hers, he can see it now, so clearly; the king's are almond shaped as hers were more square, but they are so similar that it takes his breath away.

Both of them simply stare for a long moment. Zeldris feels his breath against his neck, and for the first time in a long time he feels fear about what is happening to him. But before he can do anything, Arthur says, "You're Zeldris. You're the one who took my throne."

Suddenly embarrassed, he swallows thickly and nods. "I am. I came to..." What was it, exactly? Zeldris can no longer remember, so shaken by the effect the king is having on him.

Incredibly, Arthur tries to smile, but instead he winces and says, "It hurts. What happened to me?"

Zeldris glances down to the sword in his chest. "You pierced yourself with Excalibur." Arthur's eyes go wide in pain and fear, and the demon quickly hurries on, "You were under a mind control spell. But I think Merlin and Elizabeth have done what they can to keep you alive."

Arthur nods, obviously trying to fight off his own terror. He goes a bit pale, and Zeldris can see his fingers flinching. "How do you know them?" he asks. "Who are you exactly?"

"That doesn't matter," Zeldris says. "You will die before anyone can help you. We cannot remove the sword. Only you can wield it, but Cusack won't let you-"

"That's not true," Arthur says, his eyes slowly closing. It looks as though he is falling asleep again, sending a surge of panic through Zeldris. The king seems to go a bit pale, and the demon wonders what to do. If Arthur falls asleep again, he might never wake up.

"What's not true?" he demands, shaking the king's shoulder. "What do I do?"

Arthur's eyes blink open again and he looks at the ceiling. "Excalibur is not mine," he says in a whisper. "It chooses who wields it. The sword decides who is worthy."

Zeldris grits his teeth. "That doesn't help!" he insists. "Who would be worthy enough to pull the sword from you? Meliodas is gone. The rest of his group is off at war." Arthur does not respond, his eyes beginning to slowly close again. "Listen to me!" Zeldris cries, shaking him again. "Who is worthy enough to take the sword?"

Arthur goes still, his breathing fading to a whisper. Zeldris can hardly breathe, stepping backwards in panic. "No. No!"

Furiously he looks around, praying someone will enter. But he is alone, and Arthur is dying, and Zeldris has not felt such a panic for centuries, since the day he was order to wipe the vampires from the earth.

His body shaking, he whirls back to the table and grips the hilt. "I will not use you," he says. "Just let me take you out. Let me save him. Please."

No response comes, not that he expected it, so Zeldris yanks hard at the hilt. It is just as stuck as it had been in the rock in the throne room, and Zeldris growls in frustration. "Help me save him!" he shouts. "I swear I won't do any harm! Just... just please!"

He closes his eyes, too afraid to even note the tear that slips down his cheek. "Please let me save him," he whispers. "Please let me make this right."

Zeldris slowly pulls, and he gasps as he feels the sword give way. His eyes snap open to see Excalibur come free, the long blade pulling upwards as it exits Arthur's body. The demon gives a huffing laugh, shouting in excitement once the weapon is free.

For a moment he stares unbelieving at the sword in his hand. But then he sees the blade covered in dark red blood, and Zeldris releases his grip, Excalibur clanging loudly as it falls to the floor. He turns back to the king, and to his horror he sees blood oozing from the wound. Arthur has not opened his eyes; when Zeldris reaches out to cup his cheek, he finds it cold and waxy.

"Arthur?" His voice is thin, scraping his throat which has gone dry. "Arthur? Wake up. Wake up!"

With alarm he leans forward, pressing his lips once more to Arthur's. But this time the king does not respond, and he chokes as the flesh is cold and unresponsive. "Arthur," he says against his mouth. "Arthur, open your eyes."

Zeldris moves upright, his eyes wild with dismay. He presses his hands against Arthur's stomach, trying to stop the bleeding. "Arthur!" Is he shouting or crying? His eyes are wet as his hands grow red. "Arthur! You need to heal yourself!"

Frantically he looks at Arthur's face, finding it just as pale and lifeless. "Open your eyes," he begs, knowing he would give anything to see the color again. How does this keep happening? He finds someone to connect to-Meliodas, then gelda, now Arthur-and they leave him, because of his choices. Zeldris bows his head, defeat heavy on his shoulders. "Arthur, please," he moans.

No more. Zeldris presses his lips together, summoning the power that lies dormant inside him. When he was the new heir to the throne, the demon king had gifted him the power of God. This is the power to undo anything, to make anything, but it cannot be used. It was the demon king's assurance that if the clan fell, the other races would go as well. Zeldris had been gifted the power knowing his task was to end Britannia if the demons would be eliminated.

It can only be used once. His arms are shaking in fear at using this power. But what choice does he have? He cannot save Arthur without it.

The ability sparks within him, and he chokes in pain. It burns worse than any of his brother's hellblaze or the goddesses' ark, being the power of the demon king himself. But Zeldris pushes that aside to pull it forth, and he begins to murmur the words he had long forgotten to wield it. Pain shoots through his limbs and makes his fingers ache. He will use God to bring life instead of death. He will give his own life for another.

"Heal," he says, commanding the power within him. "Heal him and bring him back."

For a moment nothing happens. Then it bursts forward, causing him to cry out, and through a white halo of pain Zeldris watches as Arthur becomes whole. His chest closes, the blood stops flowing, his skin regains the golden coloring he once had.

Then Arthur's chest rises and falls, then rises again, and Zeldris nearly collapses in relief. The last thing he sees are the violet eyes opening and turning to meet his, the two connecting for just a moment before he knows no more.

When Zeldris opens his eyes again, he is staring at a ceiling that is strange, his mind hazy with what has occurred... Was there a battle? Where is Gelda? He groans as his head spins, knowing he must get up. If Cusack finds him on the ground…

"You're awake!" a cheery voice says.

Zeldris' eyes go wide, and slowly he sits up. He is in a bed, and sitting beside him is the human king. His mouth opens in shock, and with a bit of fear he looks downwards to where the sword had been planted in his chest. But besides the hole in the king's tunic, there is no evidence that anything at all had happened to him.

"You saved me." Arthur smiles a bit shyly, his grin lopsided. "You're incredible."

Zeldris looks down at his hands, his body flushed with shame. How could he do this, betray his clan, save a human, use his power? The demon king will come for him, will make him pay for wasting such a gift, and Zeldris cannot even begin to start thinking of what that will entail, what horrors he will have to face.

But for now, Arthur slides closer. His hand settles on Zeldris' leg, and in the corner of his eye he sees the king bend down a bit to catch his attention. "Thank you," he says.

"I don't understand," Zeldris replies. "I couldn't move the sword in the castle."

Arthur chuckles. In Camelot? Probably not. You were there to wipe us all out, after all." Zeldris frowns as the king continues, "Excalibur found you worthy though. Whatever you were doing convinced the power inside it that there is something special about you."

"Nonsense," Zeldris huffs, his cheeks growing pink.

"Is it? You pulled the sword when no one else could." Arthur shrugs. "You saved my life."

Their gazes meet once more: Zeldris, his dark eyes filled with doubt and confusion, Arthur's shining with a cautious amusement. The two look at one another, and as the moment stretches on, Zeldris feels himself relaxing, his shoulders falling, his anxiety fading.

Suddenly Arthur surges forward, grabbing him by the sides of his face and pressing their mouths together. Immediately Zeldris responds, slanting his lips against the king's. At first the kiss is rough, teeth and tongues meeting in a clash of flurried need, but then they both melt against one another, causing the kiss to go slower, deeper, and stirring a rising passion.

Too soon, they separate. "Sorry," Arthur whispers, "I just thought..."

Zeldris regards him closely, unsure of what to say. The atmosphere becomes awkward, and Arthur laughs and rubs the back of his neck. "We should probably talk," says the king, peeking up at him.

"Probably," says Zeldris. Instead they reach for each other again, pulling one another close, Zeldris' arms going around the king's waist as Arthur's arms go around his neck, their mouths hovering for a heartbeat before they meet once more.