He knew the storm was coming.

The sky was darkening off in the distance. Large clouds that towered above the tree line; a wall that threatened to blot out the sun as it approached. Distantly, thunder could be heard. The metallic smell of oncoming rain present within his mouth.

At least he preferred to think it was because of the rain, and not the blood.

It soaked the earth beneath his feet. Turning the green blades of grass a terrible red. A clear trail that Arthur always followed. Through the wooded area and to a secluded clearing. Away from the battle that could be heard far off. The blast of cannons. The crack of a musket. Or perhaps it was the thunder. Arthur could never tell. He didn't care to. It didn't matter how many times he had this dream. For Arthur, there was only one outcome.

A slow walk as he left din of war. The stench of smoke and gunpowder heavy in the air. Thick enough that it burned the inside of his nose, searing the back of his throat. It made his lungs yearn for clean air. The sounds were oddly quiet. Arthur could still pick up what was happening behind him, but it was muffled. A scream filtered through every half pace till they stopped altogether. It's what replaced them that never failed to set the hair on the back of his neck on edge.

Singing.

Soft at first. Easily mistaken for a breeze of wind, yet as Arthur continued on it grew more distinct.

He knew the words. The lullaby had been sung to him many times when he was still a young child. No doubt it had been sung to him as an infant too. Even a century passed had yet been able to weather them from his mind.

The lyrics themselves were not unsettling, but rather the voice. A voice Arthur had no heard except for only in memory. Even as he rounded the last trunk of the tree that blocked the view of the clearing, Arthur still could not stop himself from inhaling sharply. His limbs felt numb. Cold and heavy despite the thick humidity from a summers evening that the memory held. His stomach churned. He didn't want to see this. Not this memory. Never this one.

Arthur drew closer. The singing grew clearer.