Disclaimer: I do not own King Arthur (the legend or the film) but I adore the story and the movie so I wrote this.

Background: You have probably will all figure out (just by reading) that this is my take on what happened after Lancelot was wounded on the battlefield. And please, review if you can. It's only one chapter people!

Forest of Eternal Slumber

Lancelot awoke from his deep sleep only to find a dense forest of dark green about him. Rising to a sitting position, the knight surveyed his surroundings and despite his observance that day had turned to night; Lancelot was amazed by the sheer brightness of the moon. Here and there shafts of moonlight were permitted to shoot through the tangled mess of leaves above on the burdened trees and the beams of light turned the foliage a pale blue. The forest was absolutely beautiful—more beautiful than ever before. The Sarmatian noted that he had been here before, when passing through on return from his last journey with Arthur where they had met the Woads.

Where was Arthur now?

Grunting, Lancelot braced himself and stood as all his bones ached while crouching first and then rising fully. Lancelot felt as if he had just been engaged in ferocious battle, but he could not remember much of what had happened before waking in the forest.

A tall and full man, Lancelot was muscular from his training as a youth and forever being on the scout with his leader and best friend, Arthur. The two, Arthur and Lancelot, may have been mistaken for brothers if Lancelot's eyes had not been so blue. Pushing raven curls from his forehead, Lancelot moved forward into the brush as it scraped against his armor that cupped his knees.

Further exploring his surroundings, Lancelot noticed white flowers the flourished where the moon shone brightest. The flowers seemed to beg the moon for kisses, as children would brace their lips for their mother's own kisses. Lancelot found the plants strange, but smiled and moved forward.

A few steps further and Lancelot saw something move from behind a gnarled tree nearby. Something familiar sounded in Lancelot's ears—words to a tune he had never heard, but knew and they were chanted by the most beautiful voices.

A breeze came and the trees swung gently above him, with white flowers falling all round him; showering him in welcome. Then, up ahead, from behind the gnarled tree not a jaunt away, came the most beautiful woman and man could ever lay his eyes upon.

Lancelot gaped in wonder to see the pale woman, her eyes silver in color, her face soft and round, like the moon, and her auburn hair blew in the wind. The woman wore a white dress, with sleeves that clung to her shoulders as her silver bow dipped. An unearthly glow surrounded her, making the enchantress all the more beautiful.

"I was wondering when you'd come."

Soft and song-like, but deep and clever was the tone of this woman's voice and it was stranger and more beautiful than Lancelot had ever imagined. "Do I know thee, milady?"

"Aye," the woman nodded to him, "but, like all, you, too, have forgotten my name."

His feet carried him forward and Lancelot could not resist. "How could any man forget such a fair face as thee?"

The woman let out a laugh, her eyes dancing about Lancelot. "Every night you see my face, dear Lancelot, it is my name that you forget and it is I who has loved you and your people most."

Lancelot felt like a stupid boy, his heart pounding as he wracked his brain to know—to know this woman. "I fear I know thee not."

With just a smile, the woman lifted her eyes, looking past far up, beyond the dark bark of the birch and the green of the leaves. The woman gazed up to the moon, her eyes one with it for a brief moment. Lancelot followed her own gaze, knowing her name now as he gazed at the moon, and looking to the woman. Now, Lancelot felt the tender warmth of her hands in his. "My Lady Arianrhod."

"You haven't forgotten me entirely then." The woman smiled gently. "The worst of my fears were infantile."

Lancelot chuckled, feeling the warmth of her hands flow through his whole body, engulfing his heard and soul. "But I should have known."

"You have left your world for this one, Lancelot, where the heroes and those of good dwell." Arianrhod instructed as Lancelot became overwhelmed with concern. "You died bravely, in battle, and your name will never be forgotten."

"But I must—"

"Shh," Arianrhod whispered to him, "all is well now. Your body shall sleep it's eternal slumber—"

Lancelot pulled away from Arianrhod angrily, his fury building. "You don't understand! I must return! If not for my sake, but for Arthur's!"

Arianrhod stared at Lancelot questioningly and then, with a great sigh, she relented and nodded. Regret stayed in her eyes. "Oh, I summoned you too early, didn't I, Lancelot?" Arianrhod smirked. "But then again, it would always be too early."

Moving forward, Arianrhod slipped her hand around the back of Lancelot's head. "Kiss me and you will be renewed."

Lancelot stared at her incredulously, but her silver eyes held deeper desires and inspired deeper passions in the knight. Ensnared by her beauty and charm, Lancelot leaned forward and with the embrace of a kiss…

There was pain, immense, torturous pain. Lancelot cried out in agony and tried to stand, to gain his bearings, but all he could remember was the battle. That wretched battle! Lancelot cried out again. "Lancelot!" A familiar voice came, soothing the knight as his eyes settled on Arthur.

"Arthur?" Lancelot asked, his eyes unbelieving. "Arthur, is it you?"

"We thought we had lost you…" Arthur replied with a sigh, "please, my friend, please concur with these doctor's orders and lie back down."

Lancelot uneasily moved back to the bed and lay down, his breath worsening. "I don't know if I'm going to live, Arthur."

Arthur took Lancelot's hand, giving him a harsh stare. "I won't let you leave us again, Lancelot."

Smiling, Lancelot gripped Arthur's hand strongly and screamed in misery. Outside, in the cold winter weather, the snow illuminated by the brightness of the moon as Arianrhod awaited Lancelot's return.