Thunder & Lightning (Reprise)

Clara stood there, blinking in the sunlight, standing on the bridge from before, the Loom of Fate nearby, half finished, a story still to be told. At the heavy fall of footsteps behind her, she whirled around, shielding her eyes with the back of her hand, only find a face half remembered through a glass darkly.

"Guinevere," Lancelot smiled, reaching for her, "my love, my life."

Clara paled, taking a step back, remembering the clash of swords like thunder and lightning, the world rippling around her, feeling herself beginning to fade. In vain, she struggled to hold onto who she was, realising too late this was the sacrifice Morgan had spoken of, the real price to be paid for remembering, only for her soul to suddenly slip through her fingers like sand, Guinevere finally awakening to the world she had sought to win for so long.

"Gwen?" Lancelot asked nervously, taking a step back as Guinevere advanced on him, not anticipating this aggressive turn of events.

"You murdered me," she whispered, tears springing to her eyes, "you betrayed me!" The accusation was a scream, making Lancelot flinch, feet stumbling to a stop in shock.

"I made it right, Gwen," he frantically gabbled, grabbing her hands in his, "I changed history for you."

"For what?" Guinevere snapped, tearing her hands out of his grip. "For a dream long dead, Camelot burned to ash by your hand" –

- "Camelot hasn't fallen yet," Lancelot explained urgently, "Arthur's dead, but the city still stands. We can take the crown for ourselves, rule together, side by side" -

- "I will rule alone," Guinevere said with quiet venom, "you nor anybody else shall share my throne."

"Some things just never change," Jenkins sighed heavily, making the pair whirl around, "especially you, Guinevere. Even time doesn't dare to touch you. It's a shame my sire didn't follow its example."

Guinevere eyed the sword in his hand, her gaze then travelling to his face, trying to find the boy he'd been, the son she should have had. "You saved my life," she said, her voice cracking, "and now you seek to end it? Father like son" -

- "I saved your life at the expense of another's," Jenkins spat, "Clara Hartley's life to be exact, setting in motion the wheels of her destruction, reducing her to nothing but a vessel for your festering soul."

"You can't change the course of history, Galahad," Lancelot lied, making Jenkins flinch, his true title striking him like a lash, "killing her isn't going to bring Clara back."

"You tore time apart for one woman," Jenkins said, circling his sire, "so why can't I?"

"Clara is gone like Camelot" -

- "Camelot still stands," Jenkins spat again, "it calls to me, a call I cannot heed. So do not try to deceive me, Dulaque" -

- "And do you not think I hear it calling to me too?" Lancelot said, his lips trembling. "That the memory of a just king, knights of honour, magic to control the world holds no meaning for me? Before you were born, I used to stand and watch the sun rising over the distant spires..." He checked himself, jaw tightening. "That is gone now," he said tersely, "but we can build a better future upon its foundations" -

- "Your definition of what constitutes a better future differs somewhat from mine," Jenkins hissed, raising his sword.

"Galeas," Guinevere said gently, stepping between them, "do not do this. Clara is gone, Camelot going with her. She was fated to die, just as Camelot is fated to fall. We can walk away from this, you and I, together."

"What, and let you tear apart this world just as you tore down Camelot with your bloodlust for power?" Jenkins said, backing away from her, still feeling that treacherous pull towards her, remembering how she used to sing him to sleep, her voice soft and low as it was now, the mother who wasn't his mother.

"Gwen, you cannot mean" - Lancelot began, eyes incredulous, making Guinevere round on him.

"What part of ruling alone do you not understand, you fool?" she hissed. "I do not desire Camelot – you are welcome to its ashes. I want this world, but I do not want you. Once, a long time ago, I craved your flesh, your touch, but no more. That was my folly. Now I hope you burn with Camelot, that your bones lie amongst its charred ruins, along with the rest of the Round Table" -

- "Why are you doing this!?" Lancelot yelled, spit flecking the air. "Camelot is still that shining city of our youth - it is where we fell in love" -

- "It is where you killed me!" Guinevere screamed, before suddenly freezing, her hand flying to her chest.

"Gwen?" Lancelot said, confused, only for her to collapse against the bridge wall, her face paling.

"I"- Her head strangely spasmed, making the rest of her body jerk forwards, Lancelot just standing there, staring at her, Jenkins doing the same, not understanding. Then she suddenly straightened up, eyes filled with flickering flames of violet, her face feral. Before they could even blink, she raised her hands, firing a wall of flame in their direction, Jenkins deflecting it with a wave of his own hand, turning it to water.

But as he did, Lancelot lunged at him, unsheathing Excalibur, the sight of seeing Arthur's sword in his hand making Jenkins falter, his hesitation nearly costing him his life. He parried the blow at the last split-second, the clash of metal making Guinevere clamp her hands over her ears, remembering her death blow, impaled on Excalibur -

"Do not fight fate, Galahad!" Lancelot bellowed. "This was meant to be!"

"Look where fighting fate has led us," Jenkins gasped, "to the edge of Armageddon!"

"But it was a better world in our time," Lancelot argued, "a world worth the risk of resurrecting. We had magic" -

- "We had hell," Jenkins spat, "wild magic, cruel kings – it was a veritable pip!"

"Things can change, Galahad, but the people have to be ruled by wisdom," Lancelot spat back, "not the Arthurian idyll they used to exist in, but something more, something better" -

- "No, they have earned the right to rule themselves," Jenkins said, circling Lancelot, "the time of kings has passed" -

- "But the time of queens is just beginning," Guinevere said, advancing on them, only to suddenly stagger, becoming bent double, grabbing her head between her hands, a terrible scream escaping her lips, making the hairs stand up on the back of Jenkins's neck.

As Lancelot froze, half turning to her, Jenkins seized his chance, rushing forwards, sword raised, Lancelot reacting almost too late, Guinevere half raising her hand, sending both swords flying, Jenkins crashing to the ground in a heap of sprawled limbs.

"You shall not triumph!" Guinevere shrieked, grabbing her head between her hands again.

"And neither shall you," Jenkins whispered, his hand closing around Excalibur's handle as he stumbled to his feet, Lancelot doing the same, snatching up Jenkins's fallen sword, approaching his son with hate in his heart, determined to end this once and for all, the fate of all three hanging in the balance, a world waiting to be won.

The battle became bitter, a storm of swords, but Jenkins had centuries of loss on his side, revenge burning in his blood, driving him to the very edge of his existence, gambling his life for one last chance to secure vengeance. And for one brief heartbeat, he nearly knew triumph, but Guinevere was suddenly between blood and bane, throwing herself in front of the blade, her eyes widening with almost wonder, Excalibur's aim straight and true.

As she collapsed to her knees, Lancelot did the same, almost comically crashing into her, Jenkins realising with a strangely detached horror that he had won after all, but the victory was tainted, something dying within him at having his father's blood on his hands. He extracted Excalibur, its blade stained with sin, Lancelot slumping sideways, Guinevere still on her knees, almost like she was asking for absolution.

"Nothing like killing two birds with one stone – or sword in this case," Clara struggled to smile, making Jenkins fall to his own knees, shock striking him like a sword, "or we could play the pun out so it's the Sword in the Stone."

"Clara," Jenkins breathed, finally understanding, Excalibur slipping out of his hand. "Clara."

"Oh, it's me alright," she said, blood beginning to froth from her lips, "took a while for me to get here though."

Jenkins just stared at her, remembering Guinevere's convulsions, how she had gripped her head, you shall not triumph. She had been fighting herself, but just as he thought this, Clara suddenly fell forwards, Jenkins catching her in his arms just before she hit the ground.

Clara's gaze searched his face so strangely high above hers, remembering the boy he'd been, and the man she'd made him. "Don't look at me like that," she whispered, body beginning to convulse as the life left her, "it was always meant to be this way."

"I loved you," Jenkins said, almost like he was confessing a sin, "you were – my – my mother. I – I couldn't let you die, but I didn't realise it would destroy so many" -

- "It's alright," Clara soothed, no longer sure of who she was, "it's going to be alright."

Jenkins bowed his silver head, the tears silently streaming down his face, finally letting go of what he loved. From far away, he remembered how he'd found Guinevere dying on the battlefield, using wild magic to tear her asunder from death's embrace. He had brought her into being and now he was ending her existence, fate coming full circle, in alignment like the stars.

"I died as I lived as I died," Clara said quietly, the battle raging around her, swords crashing together like thunder and lightning. Camelot was burning, fading as she faded, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The sky was a mystery she'd long since learned to solve, tracing the stars with her bloodstained fingers, finding her home in freedom before desire destroyed it, desecrating what had once been holy ground...

"We choose," Jenkins said brokenly.

"I choose," Clara said, and then she was gone, the best of dark and bright, the world finally won.

Now Cinderella, don't you go to sleep
It's such a bitter form of refuge
Why don't you know the kingdom's under siege
And everybody needs you...