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Arthur made his way to the kitchen and sat at the table. He left the lights off and settled in the darkness of the room, his thoughts still filled with the images and remembrances of the woman whose shadow followed him throughout the ages. He thought that he saw glimpses of her in his lifetimes, but it seemed that she would disappear from as sight as soon as he turned his head.

Guinevere's absence from his life had worn on him slowly. The first few reincarnations, he had been full of hope, confident in his faith that fate and destiny would bring them together once more. But as he lived on, and as he began to realize that he was going to be alone in each lifetime, he saw very little reason be enthusiastic about his reincarnation.

He sat there for a while, willing himself not to think about his nightmare, when Merlin suddenly burst into the room and called his attention.

"I need to be at the hospital," he said. All traces of fatigue were gone now; Merlin was alert and awake—on emergency mode, was how he had often referred to it.

"What's wrong?" Arthur moved to the sink to wash his hands.

"Five car pile-up," Merlin was picking up the backpack that held all his medical equipment. His movements were swift and efficient. Arthur's were the same. He had lived with Merlin long enough to know when to be alert when there was an emergency at the hospital.

Their fields of expertise were worlds apart: Merlin was an emergency room doctor, Arthur was heir to his father's financial empire (not much of a change there)—but Arthur they had often come to each other's aid when the need arose. Arthur gave Merlin a ride to or from work and Merlin was Arthur's sounding board when things became too hectic at work.

"Serious?" Arthur asked, already dreading the answer.

"Three casualties, one of them a minor."

"I'll drive you."

The journey to the hospital was tense. Merlin was understandably anxious about how much it was going to take to get to the emergency room, and Arthur was hoping that there would be no other fatalities reported once they got there.

They make it to the hospital in record time.

"Thanks for the ride," Merlin said as he shouldered his pack. "This will go on for hours so you can leave if you want."

Arthur nodded but made his way to the parking lot. After parking the car, he got out and made his way to the cafeteria. Hopefully, bad coffee will distract him from thinking about his dream.

He sat in the mostly-empty cafeteria, looking at people as they ate; seeing harried doctors, nurses, and all forms of medical personnel come and leave. A young mother came in with a small child and he watched as the boy regale his mom with a story that had him waving his arms in the air.

His thoughts drifted again to Guinevere and, once more, he felt the all-too familiar ache of her absence. He smiled ruefully to himself; he should be used to it by now, her not being with him, but it was the same day after day. For all of Arthur's success, and it was considerable, he felt hollow inside. The need to have Guinevere by his side was more than just physical; if he let it, he was sure that it would drive him into madness.

Prior to his reawakening in this lifetime, Arthur never wanted for company. Being the heir to the Pendragon fortune meant that people willingly flocked to his side. His father's name—and Arthur was sure to make that distinction because he wasn't altogether sure he deserved recognition for being born into his family—opened doors. But even then, every smile felt hollow, ever accolade felt fake, and every woman he went out with was soon given an "it isn't you, it's me" speech.

He never lied. It wasn't their fault. He made sure to attempt to pursue romantic relationships with women who were intelligent, clever, and successful, but nothing ever went beyond a third date. He tried rationalizing: she wore the wrong shade of red, she wasn't tall enough, she graduated from the wrong school; silly, superficial things that would have been overlooked had he been serious enough about his paramours. But he had never been serious-about any of them.

Arthur met Merlin after he had come into the emergency room sporting a rather painful dislocated shoulder. He had been driving on the freeway when a mixed exit caused him to slam into a concrete barrier. Thankfully, it was in the early morning and traffic was light. He had received a citation, a massive fine, and a trip to the ER because his car had slammed driver-side first into the dividing barrier.

A traffic enforcer had driven him to the ER and it was there he met the pale and lanky doctor with whom he felt a kinship, like he was someone he had met many, many years ago, but whose name he had forgotten. The moment Merlin wrenched his shoulder back into place, it was as if something in his memory clicked together as well. He looked into the face of his old friend and in his mind's eye, saw that dreadful day when Guinevere died in his arms.

"Have you found her yet?" It was the first question he had asked of his one-time servant.

Merlin shook his head, and once again, Arthur felt like he was falling into a deep hole. How long was he going to live without Guinevere by his side?

Arthur put his elbows on the table and dropped his head into his hands. What sin had he committed that he was punished with living without her?

"Arthur!" Merlin's breathless voice was suddenly calling his attention and he looked up to see that his friend was sitting across the table from him.

"What's wrong?" Arthur's brow furrowed. "Have there been more injuries?"

Merlin shook his head vigorously.

"Come with me."

"What?"

"You'll understand later," Merlin stood up and made his way to the door of the cafeteria. "Follow me."

Arthur made a face but made his way out the door. He passed the table of the young mother and her child, and the boy looked up at him to give him a dessert smeared smile. He returned the grin, making the boy giggle with glee.

One-time king and sorcerer made their way through hospital corridors with Merlin being stopped every so often by nurses and staffers who gave him progress reports in various patients. Quite a few goggled when they saw the person walking with him, but Arthur kept his head down and his hands in his pockets. He had little patience with oglers.

They turned another corner and Arthur realized that they were in the hallway that led to a less busy section of the hospital emergency room. Merlin looked at Arthur and put a finger to his lips, motioning that the other man keep quiet. Arthur nodded; he was puzzled. What exactly did Merlin want him to see? He was about to open his mouth to ask the question when Merlin shook his head and pointed to a section of the room that wasn't quite hidden by a dividing screen.

One of Merlin's fellow doctors was seated in a chair, talking to a person who kept on being obscured by passing hospital personnel. Arthur saw glimpses of the patient: small sneaker-shod feet, a leather handbag placed on the floor by a hand, the same hand gesturing to a place just above her abdomen, indicating the part where she was—presumably—hurt. But then the traffic of people cleared and Arthur saw the person speaking to the doctor.

His breath caught in his throat and everything around him seemed to melt into nothingness

Long, dark, curly hair spilled over a bronze shoulder, high cheekbones dusted with freckles, lush lips that formed words he couldn't hear, hands that were impossibly delicate.

"Guinevere," Arthur whispered her name as his world tilted at the sight of his love.

He took a step forward, wanting to hold her in his arms again. Just a few hours ago, he was haunted by visions of her death, but now, here, she was alive and breathing.

Merlin shot a hand out and stopped him before he could move any closer.

"She doesn't know you, Arthur," Merlin said in a low voice.

"She will," Arthur's tone was determined. "You will make her remember. Hell, I will make her remember."

Merlin shook his head.

"I was the first attending. I spoke the spell as I was examining her and there was no effect, she just looked at me and asked what language I was speaking."

The wizard looked into his friend's uncomprehending face.

"If this was Guinevere, the spell would have worked on her," he said carefully. "She looks like Guinevere, but I don't think..."

"Stop."

Merlin was silenced by the ferocity of Arthur's tone.

"I was reborn into every lifetime looking how I did in the one before," he spoke with a controlled anger that made Merlin take a step back. "The knights we found were also born looking the same."

Arthur's eyes bore into Merlin's.

"She is Guinevere," Arthur turned and looked at the woman who was now left by herself in the corner of the emergency room. "There is no reason why she is not my Guinevere."

Merlin stayed silent and after a while made his way into the larger room. He inclined his head and motioned Arthur to follow. Merlin stopped in front of the woman—in front of Guinevere—took the seat in front of her.

"Hello," she said in a soft voice, looking at Merlin and at Arthur who hovered a couple of feet behind the doctor.

"I'm sorry to have left so abruptly," Merlin said with a smile. "I'm afraid it's been a busy night for us."

"I understand, doctor," she nodded.

"I'm sorry, I never asked your name," Merlin stretched out a hand to introduce himself. "Merlin Emrys."

The woman nodded and took the proffered hand.

"Gwen Smith."

"Gwen?" Arthur croaked.

"Yes, Gwen," she said and her brow furrowed. "Are you a doctor, too?"

"Arthur..."

"Pendragon," she said. "I knew I recognized you from somewhere."

"What brings you here, Ms. Smith?" Merlin asked, breaking the staring contest between Arthur and Gwen.

Gwen ducked head before looking up again at the young doctor.

"I woke up with a sharp pain in my stomach," she said softly. "Like I had been...well, stabbed is the only way I can describe it. I went to look in the mirror and I saw this."

She pulled up the hem of her t-shirt and showed Merlin the edges of a large bruise that spanned her stomach. It would not have been unusual had it not been the color of blood.

"That's...impressive." Merlin said.

Gwen readjusted her shirt and sat back to look at the doctor.

"I don't understand how I could have gotten it," she said, her voice agitated. "And why is it that color?"

"Have do you done any heavy lifting in the last 24 hours? Did you bump into anything?"

She shook her head at his questions.

"Does it hurt?" Arthur asked softly. He was sure his face was pale. From what he could see of the bruise, it was the exact shape of the blood that stained her dress on the night of her death.

Gwen looked at him again, this time a frown marring her features.

"No," she said slowly. "It hurt when I woke up, but not anymore. And, no, I haven't coughed up...or anything bloody."

She had averted her eyes from Arthur and was now looking at the floor.

"Hmmm," Merlin said as he looked over the notes he made on her chart.

"Do you have any idea what this is, Dr. Emrys?" Her voice was soft, scared, and Arthur fought the urge to take her in his arms and soothe away her worries.

"It's an interesting bruise," he said as he peered into her face and saw the concern there. "But what worries me is that you don't know what caused it."

He closed her file and called for a nurse.

"We'll have to admit you for a couple of days, Ms. Smith. We need to make sure that this isn't a symptom of something more serious."

Guinevere nods and worries her lower lip.

"Is there someone you need to call to let them know where you are?" Merlin asked gently. "A parent, a spouse, a friend?"

She shakes her head.

"My brother," she says softly. "But he's serving overseas in the armed forces."

Merlin nods and looked up to see Arthur staring at Gwen. He sees the look on the once-king's face, love and wonder were there, but also joy. He looked at Gwen. She looked exactly like the young maid who had befriended him ages ago, but was she the Once and Future Queen?