WEEKS LATER.
The hall was still.
Only candlelight flickered now, shadows dancing across the long table, brushing over the empty throne of a man too large to vanish so quietly.
Arturia hadn't moved.
Not since the last child left the table.
Not since the last echo faded.
Her eyes were fixed forward—but they weren't seeing the present.
They were far away. Locked in memories, or maybe clinging to ghosts.
Arthur approached quietly.
"Mother," he said gently.
She didn't answer.
He moved to her side, slowly kneeling beside her like he did when he was a boy.
"Let me help you," he whispered.
He took her hand—small compared to his now, yet cold and still trembling.
When she looked down at him, her breath caught.
The angle of his jaw. The shape of his eyes. The way his brows knit when he was concerned.
He looked so much like his Father.
She hadn't seen it before—not truly. Not like this.
A sob slipped through before she could stop it. Then another.
Arthur didn't say a word. He rose and wrapped his arms around her tightly.
"I miss him too," he whispered.
She nodded against his chest. "I can't remember how to walk alone."
"I'll walk with you," he said simply.
Together, slowly, they left the hall—her steps hesitant, her grip firm on his arm.
When they reached the royal chambers, Arthur opened the door for her.
She stood in the doorway, looking at the room once filled with laughter, with stories told late into the night, with soft warmth and quiet love.
Now it was too silent. Too cold.
Arthur gently squeezed her hand and stepped back. " Get some rest, mother"
She nodded.
But the moment he left, the walls started closing in.
The scent of him lingered.
The brush still held strands of his hair. His cloak was folded over the chair, exactly where he left it.
She backed out, nearly stumbling over herself in haste.
Her feet found the corridor before her mind even caught up. She ran.
Down halls. Through gates. Past confused guards who didn't dare stop her.
She ran straight to the cottage in the gardens—their cottage. Their escape from duty. Their sanctuary.
The moment she stepped inside, she froze.
Everything was exactly as they'd left it.
The book he'd never finished reading. A cracked piece of parchment where he'd left her a note during one of their quiet mornings.
Here, they'd shared their first kiss.
Here, they made love for the first time.
Here, she told him she was pregnant with Elaine.
Here, she'd laughed harder than ever in her life.
Here, she whispered secrets she never told anyone else.
And now—
He was not here.
She sank to her knees, fingers trembling as they touched the edge of the hearth.
Then it hit her. The weight. The crushing, soul-breaking truth.
He was gone.
And the silence knew it too.
She screamed.
A sound no one had ever heard from her before. A sound that didn't belong to a queen, or a knight, or even a mother.
It was the sound of a wife whose heart had finally broken.
The moonlight drifted in through the cracked windows of the cottage, painting soft silver across Arturia's face where she lay curled in the old armchair.
Tear stains clung to her cheeks, and exhaustion had finally claimed her.
She fell into a deep, quiet sleep.
And there—in the space between dreams and the soul's edge, she heard it.
A hum.
Low, gentle, familiar.
It wrapped around her like a blanket of memory. That song.
That lullaby.
The one he always sang when the children were young.
The one he sang to her stomach when she carried each of them. When they were alone in the gardens. When the world was heavy.
She blinked, her dreamlike vision adjusting to the glow.
There he was.
Gilgamesh.
Bathed in warm light. Cloaked in gold and white, but simple—no armor, no crown. Just her husband, as he was in the quietest, most tender moments.
She whispered, "Gil…"
He turned, and the moment he saw her, his smile bloomed like the rising sun.
"My lioness."
She ran to him, and he caught her, arms strong and sure like they'd never left her. She buried her face in his chest, clinging as if she could melt into him.
"Take me with you," she whispered. "Please, Gil. Take me with you."
His hand curled around the back of her head, steady. "They need you."
"I need you," she cried.
He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, brushing her tears away with calloused thumbs. "Do you remember our vows?"
"Of course," she breathed.
"Then you know," he said softly, "I will never leave you—even in death. I will be waiting for you. But first, I need you to hold strong. For them. For us."
She shook her head, tears blurring everything. "I don't know how…"
He smiled—that smile, the one only she ever saw, the one that made kingdoms feel like home.
"You do. You always have. Even before we ever crossed paths."
He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers.
"I will always be with you," he whispered.
And then—he hummed again. That lullaby.
The one she now realized had always been for her, too.
She wanted to stay. To hold this moment forever.
But—
The world began to pull.
Her eyes fluttered open with a gasp.
The early morning light spilled across the floor. Her cheeks were dry.
Her chest still ached—but the weight had shifted. No longer crushing.
It was still there, but now it sat beside her, like an old companion. Grief had not gone.
But Gil had reminded her how to carry it.
She looked out the cottage window toward the castle.
She whispered, "I'll be strong."
And for the first time since his death, she believed it.
The night was still, blanketed in a hush that felt otherworldly—like the world itself had paused to listen.
She began to hum softly.
Faint at first. Carried on the wind like a whisper of the past.
And somehow—somehow—the walls of the Pendragon palace seemed to carry it, spread it, magnify it.
The lullaby wove through stone, wood, and memory.
It reached every room. Every heart.
In the royal bedchambers, Rhysand held Artizea gently as she slept.
Her breathing was soft, her face pressed against his shoulder. But then—
The melody touched his ears. Familiar. Ancient. His father-in-law's song.
He smiled.
And then the sound of hurried feet—two sets.
"Daddy!" Seraphina whispered urgently. "Grandpa's singing!"
Calisto added with wide eyes, "It's his song!"
Rhysand shushing gently. "Shh…" he said, a soft smile playing on his lips.
Seraphina gently pressed a finger to Calisto's lips, then covered her own. Calisto mirrored her.
They understood.
Artizea stirred, her eyes fluttering briefly—but didn't wake fully. Still wrapped in dreams, her body melted into the warmth of their bed.
Rhysand extended his arms, and the children climbed in, curling into the curve of their sleeping mother.
And then—he hummed the lullaby too.
Far away in the quiet cottage of Arthur and Celestea, little Lizzie cried in her bed, inconsolable.
No stories worked, no gentle hugs helped. She missed her grandfather, her hero.
Arthur sat beside her, helpless.
But then—he heard it.
The lullaby.
He froze, hand tightening gently around his daughter's.
"Dad…" Lizzie whispered, blinking through tears.
Arthur's throat closed, emotions rising so suddenly he couldn't speak.
But he began to hum. That same song.
Lizzie calmed almost immediately, curling up with her favorite plush creature, her eyes finally heavy with sleep.
And in a distant place—where shadows hung and moonlight barely touched the ground—Elaine sat alone. She hadn't returned. Hadn't spoken. Hadn't eaten.
But she heard it.
That first note—
Her breath caught. Her body froze.
And then, ever so softly, she sang it.
From their father's voice when he was gentle, when he was just a dad.
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
But she kept singing.
Back in the royal bedchambers, Artizea stirred fully this time, her crimson eyes opening slowly.
The softest smile curved her lips as she heard Rhysand and her children humming.
And then—she joined them.
A voice cracked with sleep, and emotion, and something else—hope.
The whole Pendragon line…scattered across kingdoms, realms, and dimensions…was humming the same song.
The family felt whole again.
"When the Stars Begin to Glow" – The Pendragon Lullaby
May you find peace in open shoes,
On roads you walk in skies of blue.
May dreams be kind and sorrow small,
And love surround you through it all.
May my voice still calm your fears,
Even when I'm not near.
May my love be with you still,
In quiet night, in morning chill.
So close your eyes and do not cry,
I'm the wind, the stars, the sky.
I'll never leave, though not in view,
My heart lives on inside of you.