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I’m imagining the words you said; mallos
IP: 82.19.140.112
Posted on April 9, 2013 at 05:07:20 AM by a r t h u r



“Your Grace!” Arthur looked up from his desk, both eyebrows raised high above his piercing grey eyes as the captain of the guards stumbled into the great hall. The man was breathing heavily, as if he had just run very quickly up several flights of stairs. The king waited patiently for him to speak, but when he did, Arthur felt his heart drop, as if the words had just injected lead into his chest.
“I just dispatched a party to the marsh,” explained the guard in a strained voice, “to bring back the prince.” The king gripped the desk, hard. It was a fight to keep his outward self calm and it took everything he had not to leap free of his seat and run from the room.
“Why,” he managed, his own words filled with tension, “can my son not bring himself home, Captain?” The other man bit his lip,
“Celidon came to fetch us, your Grace,” he explained, his eyes speaking of an understanding, and a pity, that Arthur had no desire to see, “I...I don’t think it’s good. I’m sorry.” Silence. It seemed to stretch out into infinity, until, finally, Arthur managed a stiff nod of dismissal, and the captain shuffled out of the room. When he was gone, Arthur closed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair. He felt numb, and hot, as if gripped by a sudden fever and his hands had begun to shake. On a sudden whim, Arthur closed his eyes, Mallos, he thought, I hope to God you hear me. We need you. Tristan needs you. The grey eyes opened again, and, with a steely determination, Arthur marched out of the room.

“Fetch Lady Nimueh,” Arthur told one of the guards, his voice a little sharper and more demanding than usual, “and ask her to meet me in the prince’s rooms. Tell her what has happened. Go.” The man obeyed, disappearing back inside the castle just as the soldiers returned across the castle bridge, the stretcher held between them. Celidon, limping badly, walked along beside his unconscious fairy. The King hurried forwards, reaching out for Tristan’s hand he took hold of it. It was cold, crusted with dried blood, and Arthur felt his fear and his anger returning, laced with a feeling of helplessness that was perhaps the worst of all. The boy was pale, with dark circles beneath his eyes, the wounds on his chest and arm bright red and angry beneath the mud that gripped to the whiteness of his skin. His brown hair, dank and laced with sweat, clung to his forehead. Arthur rested a large weathered hand against the skin of his son’s cheek, and the boy stirred, his green eyes flickering open. “I’m here, Tris,” Arthur told him in the most reassuring tone he could muster, “you’re safe now, I swear it.” Tristan’s eyes began to droop again, but he managed a feeble smile, “father,” he said, before slipping back into unconsciousness again. Arthur squared his shoulders. “Take him to his rooms,” he ordered, “and for God’s sake get those wounds cleaned.”

---

Arthur sat in the chair beside his son’s bed as Nimueh lit the candles in the darkening chamber. The curtains had been closed upon Tristan’s admittance, but only once the sun had begun to decline had it become a little too dark to see. Lighting the final wick, Nimueh turned back to her eldest son and stood back behind his seat, resting her hands on his shoulders to give them what she hoped was a reassuring squeeze. Arthur’s eyes remained fixed resolutely upon the bed. Tristan’s legs were covered by blankets, but his torso remained uncovered, and was bandaged with clean linen instead. It had also been wrapped around his injured arm, where blood had already begun to stain the off-white of the fabric. The boy had still not opened his eyes. Celidon had refused to leave his fairy and was curled up on the bed, his head rested upon the prince’s ankles, his eyes wide-open and watchful. Arthur sat forwards suddenly when the cu sith’s ears pricked, and sure enough, seconds later, Tristan began to stir for the first time since they had left the yard. Nimueh smiled,
“I’ll fetch some fresh water,” she told Arthur, before collecting the bowl from the dressing table and leaving the room quietly. When she had gone the king moved forwards, and knelt down upon the floor beside the bed, reaching out to rest his hand against Tristan’s face again. “Welcome back,” he smiled, his voice cracking a little, “you gave us all a scare.” The prince looked back at his father through bleary, tired eyes,
“I lost my sword,” he said in a small voice that twisted at Arthur’s heart,
“Don’t worry,” the king replied, his eyes prickling, “there’s plenty more where that came from.”


photography and editing by merlin






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