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Though he could not say how many nights remained where he would even have that opportunity. You are the one who sent her away. You are the one who made it so.
He knew it had been the only way to save her life. To protect her. But it still did not spare him the needles of doubt that jabbed at his mind from time to time. It was simply another reason on the list to despise himself.
At least when I am dead, I will not loathe my own nature. Unless there is a realm of suffering waiting for us. No, he doubted there was an afterlife waiting for him—good or bad. It was his suspicion that the island itself simply collected those who had passed on, but he had no proof of that but his own feelings.
How many days until he died? Two weeks? Two months? He could not imagine that once Grinn was dead that the elementals would linger long in their decision to kill him. For that, he was almost grateful.
How many nights did he have left with Gwendolyn? Perhaps fourteen. Perhaps sixty. He would not tell her what was coming for him—she was on Earth, safe, with her own kind. There was nothing she could do to stop his imminent death. He did not want her to grieve for him. He would tell her that the magic was simply fading away—that Avalon was too far to let it last for long. That would explain his absence.
It was important that she believe she was never going to see him again. Or else, she might spend the rest of her days waiting for the man in her dreams to come again—committing herself to a lonely life.
No, he would not have that. She deserved more.
When sleep did finally come for him, and the magic he had embedded in her linked them together once more, he found himself in her world for a change. The sun was high, illuminating a few puffy white clouds amid an otherwise clear blue sky. He was…
He could not precisely say where he was.
A field, that much he knew. It was huge, the grass cut low, with embankments on two sides. He saw cornstalks growing that stretched as far as he could see in three directions, and a large building on the fourth that he could not identify. It was boxy and strange.
There were children running about, playing some kind of game. Sitting on wooden benches was a small crowd of adults.
One of the children in the field wielded a blunted weapon of wood. He swung it at a ball being hurled by another child. Thwack! The sound of the impact echoed off the building.
The ball went flying, and the child ran toward a small white square on the dirt. The crowd cheered. Whatever the goal was, it seemed the child had been successful.
He let out a quiet huh.
“Holy shit.” Someone laughed. Someone whose voice he would never not recognize. Turning, he smiled faintly at Gwendolyn. She did not look human, despite this clearly being Earth. Her hair was once again shades of fire, and a pair of red wings were folded at her back. She was lounging in the grass, leaning back on her hands, her legs crossed at the ankles. The smile on her face was one of amusement and adoration both. “You look so fucking funny here.”
“You have dragon wings.”
She snickered. “Yeah, but you look like you got lost on the way to a Halloween contest.” She looked down at herself. “All right, fine. I guess we both do.”
“Where are we?”
“A happy memory. My dad used to coach Little League Baseball. I think he was always sad that he didn’t have a boy, so he did this instead.” Gwen patted the grass next to her. “I used to come to watch. Mostly because there was soft serve.”
“Soft serve?” He arched an eyebrow.
“Ice cream.”
He did not know what that was either. A food item, he assumed. He shrugged, turning his attention back to the children running about. There was a man on the field, clapping and shouting encouragement. He vaguely resembled Gwendolyn. Mordred could only presume it was her father.
In another world, I would ask him for permission to marry her. He had never considered the idea of marriage—not once. And yet, here he was, finding another lost moment to mourn.
“I just realized you’ve probably never had ice cream. Or hot dogs. Or a hamburger.” Gwen leaned back on her elbows, kicking her feet out in front of her. “I suppose it wouldn’t do you any good to eat it in a dream. Probably wouldn’t taste like much.”
“No. Very likely not.”
She frowned, clearly saddened by that.
It was that expression that finally inspired him to sit down at her side. Reaching out, he slid the points of his fingers through her hair, combing through the strands and brushing against her scalp. She shuffled closer to him and leaned against him.
“Are you home?” He kissed the top of her head.
“I’m home.”
“Are you safe?”
