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Posted on February 28, 2014 at 11:24:32 PM by arthur
 Dawn had already begun to set in when Arthur returned to the entrance hall, where he was met by his family. Nimueh, clothed in her nightdress, told him that Thoth was gone to. She said that she hadn’t thought to mention it before because Thoth was always disappearing for days. Morgana and Mordred were both dressed. Morgana was clad in her hunting leathers and Mordred had his waxed travel cloak folded over his arms. “I’ve had enough sleep” he told his brother, resting a hand on the short man’s shoulder, “I’ll go back out on Angmar and keep an eye out for movement on the ground.” Morgana nodded, “I’m sure he’ll turn up Arthur,” she said kindly, pulling him into a hug, “he and Thoth are probably up a tree somewhere.” The king had no idea what to say to them. It wasn’t exactly news to anyone that Tristan could be frightfully irresponsible, but Arthur knew his son. He wanted to argue with them, to tell them that Tristan had never been gone so long before. He wasn’t as bad as they all thought he was. There was a voice in Tristan’s head that told him that people would worry, that reminded him who he was and what he meant. Arthur knew it was there. Something was wrong. They had started talking amongst themselves, trying to urge the King to go to bed, but he couldn’t. He refused, shaking his head again and again and again. Fresh search parties were sent out when the guard changed shifts an eight in the morning. Morgana returned to the Commune in order to recruit some volunteers. Left alone in his study Arthur paced, glancing out of the window at the approach to the castle for any sign of Tristan returning. He couldn’t take it. Shouting for squires along the way, the king marched down to the armoury and had them buckle him into his training plates. The straw man that had been set up for Tristan’s training session remained untouched and, drawing his sword, the king poured out his increasing frustration, sending straw and wood flying in all directions. The sun climbed towards midday and sweat dripped from Arthur’s forehead and down his nose. There was something satisfying about the burning muscles in his arms and the dull ache spreading through his legs. He didn’t see Nimueh leave the castle, walking along the fence until she came to the gate. She lifted up her skirts with her left hand as she undid the latch with her right, her silk slippers impacting daintily with the sand. “Arthur,” Nimueh said softly, before saying it again with more force, “Arthur, stop!” Reluctantly the king lowered his sword and took a step back from the remnants of the dummy. “I can’t talk about it,” he told her after a long pause, “I can’t, not even to you.” He watched his mother bite her lip, her green gaze holding his own before she sighed, “what can I do?” Arthur had no answer for her. He shook his head, running his fingers through his damp hair. “Pray?” the king suggested at last, and the harshness with which he said it brought a sad smile to Nimueh’s lips. Ignoring his forbidding expression she took a step forwards, “Do you think he’d have come home by now, if he could?” she asked him, her large eyes so open that they told him that she would accept whatever answer he gave. Arthur felt some of his resolve crumble, “Yes,” came his firm reply, and he lingered before her a moment or two in indecisiveness before marching past her pack into the castle. --- The king stood at the table in the council chamber, a large map spread out across its surface with little silver pieces marking out positions of various troops and volunteers. Mordred and Angmar had brought news, Thoth’s boat was missing from its usual moorings and now one remembered seeing him take it. Arthur has dispatched some of the royal fleet to search the seas. One of the guard captains edged his way into the room, removing his helmet and tucking it under his arm as he moved over the wooden floor. “No sign of him in the Marsh, Your Grace,” he reported a little tentatively. Arthur closed his eyes wearily. It had been almost thirty-six hours since he had slept, but every time he heard a search part come in, he still hoped that they had returned to tell him that his son was safe. The subsequent disappointment was always rapidly followed by an intense dread, and a fear that closed cold fingers around his heart. The last time he had sent so many search parties out in search of a prince, that prince had never returned. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Tristan’s face looking back at him. He was a handsome boy, with kind eyes and a mouth that smiled easily, and each time Arthur saw him he felt a surge of pride. Following on its heels however was a choking panic, that the only time he would see that face again would be when it was pale and cold and devoid of life. His son had so much promise, Arthur thought to himself as he ran a thumb over one of the metal figures that had not yet been placed out on the table. He had the potential to be something great...and he had lost too many sons already. He would see this one grown. “Is anyone searching the Vale?” he enquired quietly, almost as if speaking to himself. “Not at the moment, Your Grace,” the guard confessed, “but we’ve had men through it three times already today...” Arthur’s restraint snapped in a sudden burst of temper, “then search it again!” he bellowed “if he’s out there, then he’s not just going to be sitting still is he!? Children move, Captain!” The man bowed, and hurried away, leaving Arthur to fume over his map. Night was fast approaching. --- Arthur’s temper was frayed, it was midnight, the third since Tristan had disappeared and the king had been shouting at people at regular intervals throughout the day. He had spent the morning in his chapel, leaving Mordred and Morgana in charge of coordinating the search (at their insistence) before returning to their job in the afternoon. Operating on an empty stomach and very little sleep, Arthur was beginning to show the strain of the previous few days. Dark circles had begun to form beneath his eyes and a thin layer of stubble was growing across his jaw. Those waiting for news had gathered in the Great Hall, and Arthur watched them from his place alone on the dais. Some of the courtiers, he knew, were not there because they cared, and he watched them move around the hall concealing smiles. As the days had drawn on more and more of them had been seeking out Mordred, offering him flattery, gifts and promises. The Lord Chancellor had turned them away, one after another, but it was enough that some had thought to do it. In a growing shell of bitterness, his heart aching, Arthur waited for news of his son. No one would think to argue with him now; something had happened to the prince. --- Morgana excused herself from the hall, her feet carrying her quickly up the red carpet of the grand staircase, her long pale fingers brushing along the polished wood of the banister rail. She was frowning when she reached the door to Mallos’ chambers, a raven on each shoulder and her hair scraped back into a fishtail braid which ran down over her shoulder. She looked more huntress than princess as she knocked sharply on the wood. Morgana did not wait for her father to invite her inside; instead she turned the door handle almost immediately and admitted herself into the rooms beyond. Everything was tidy, too tidy, as if the rooms were unoccupied or furnished for show. Her eyes slid over the blandness as she sought the Spaniard’s gaze, holding it fast with her matching black eyes. “I get that you’re annoyed with him, Mallos,” she began heatedly, her eyes flashing, “but for Zed’s sake, it’s been three days! Three whole days and you haven’t said a word to him; you haven’t offered to help...” Trailing off into furious silence Morgana took a steadying breath before picking up the thought again, “he’s your grandson Mallos, and his father, your friend is going out of his mind down there.” Her anger broke and, quite unusually, her eyes filled with tears, “please” she implored him, “please, will you just come downstairs and do something! |
Replies:
- there's a wise man in every fool. - By mallos March 3, 2014 at 01:23:22 AM
- we'll fulfill our dreams and we'll be free - By morgana March 3, 2014 at 05:42:06 AM
- there's a wise man in every fool. - By mallos March 3, 2014 at 07:38:15 PM
- through the fog and tumbling dark - By arthur March 4, 2014 at 03:50:25 AM
- there's a wise man in every fool. - By mallos March 4, 2014 at 05:46:53 AM
- chased your ghost across the yard - By arthur March 5, 2014 at 11:31:48 PM
- there's a wise man in every fool. - By mallos March 6, 2014 at 03:30:18 AM
- chased your ghost across the yard - By arthur March 5, 2014 at 11:31:48 PM
- there's a wise man in every fool. - By mallos March 4, 2014 at 05:46:53 AM
- through the fog and tumbling dark - By arthur March 4, 2014 at 03:50:25 AM
- there's a wise man in every fool. - By mallos March 3, 2014 at 07:38:15 PM
- we'll fulfill our dreams and we'll be free - By morgana March 3, 2014 at 05:42:06 AM
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