Chapter Text
‘I’m sorry’, is what Arthur would have said.
‘I let you down, Charles’, is also what Arthur would have said.
He would’ve.
Would have, if only he could.
But, when death is staring you dead in the face in the form of a stag, and you’re coughing and choking on your own blood that’s swelling up in your lungs whilst helplessly gasping for air—begging a million times in your head that you’d just have five more minutes.
Five more minutes to show whatever God that was controlling your life that you’ve changed for the better—Five more minutes to say goodbye to the people who’ve done nothing but right by you—you would have wished you could say those things, too, if it meant dying with some sort of peace to latch onto.
But-
Then, there’s the sunrise.
It’s bright, soft, yellow and orange glow? Maybe death isn’t that bad, Arthur thought.
Then again, the first thought comes circling round again: what if it really is that bad?
No one’s sure if there’s a heaven, hell, or some sort of ‘waiting room’ they all blabber on about as if they won’t find out when they all end up at this point, too: dying, and gasping for air. They’d probably be wishing they were already there—wherever ‘there’ is.
Arthur’s breathing starts to slow, unable to keep taking anymore air in his lungs. His eyes are set on the rising sun; its glow reflects in his eyes—stinging a bit at the sight, but, he couldn’t care less at this moment.
At this very moment? Arthur wonders; a fleeting yet still enough thought—at this very moment, he feels like a newborn again; his mother’s cautious hands, cradling his small head gently against her chest as she gazes down at him, and yet, also herself.
Then, slowly—just as the thought came—Arthur’s eyes closed.
”Arthur,” a voice calls out, getting his attention, “Arthur, wake up.”
At those few words, Arthur’s body jolts up, gasping, and breathing deeply. Arthur’s eyes are open; he’s in his tent, sitting up on his cot.
He hears tin-on-tin clanging together; Mr. Pearson cooking; Jack begging John to play swords with him; and the chickens—obnoxiously so—clucking loudly.
Arthur’s head slowly turns, looking into the direction of the voice he heard calling out to him, landing on a familiar, wrinkled, old-face.
It was Hosea. Thank God, Arthur thought, exhaling a small air of relief as his shoulders slowly relaxed.
“I said: wake up, Arthur.” Hosea said, briefly patting Arthur on the back. “You alright, son? Ya look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Hosea said, a short, wheezy laugh escaping his lips, ending with a small cough as he cleared his throat.
”Naw, ‘M… ‘M Fine.” Arthur couldn’t even say Hosea’s name at the moment; mostly out of worry that if he did, he’d wake up from whatever nightmare of a dream he’d fallen into.
”Well… come on, then. Don’t just stay in here, now. Get up, go eat somethin’.” Hosea replied before walking out of Arthur’s tent.
Arthur shifted on his cot, looking to his bedside table. His mother’s photo and the flower that was in a mason-jar was still there, including his journal. Arthur ran a hand over his head, realizing he didn’t have his hat. Looking around, he found it by his shaving kit and picked it up, firmly putting it on his head before walking out, just as Hosea did.
He went over by the camp’s cooking pot, pouring himself a cup of coffee into his tin cup that he pulled out from his satchel, and taking a long, long sip, savoring the feeling of liquid that went down his throat, warming his stomach.
When Arthur looked up from his cup, he saw Javier, Sean, and Charles over by the main campfire. The sight almost made him feel like he was in a revery. Sean; Sean was safe. So was everyone else; they were all here. Well… everyone that mattered at least. Arthur could care less about Micah and that O’Driscoll, Kieran.
Arthur walked over to the main campfire, sitting beside Charles on the log in front of the campfire, coffee still in his hand as he sipped from it once more. Looked like Charles was making something; Arthur, glancing at what seemed to be feathers and a stick he was fiddling with, along with a piece of stone beside him.
”Javier; Sean; Charles.” Arthur greeted.
Sean quickly greeted back; a big, loud yawn slipping in between his words. “Good,” interrupted by a yawn, “…Mornin’, Ar’tur.”
Javier nodded in acknowledgement, not seeming entirely awake enough to even respond as he yawned.
“Mornin’, Arthur,” Charles hummed.
“Mornin’, Charles,” Arthur hummed in return. “What ‘cha makin’ there?” Arthur already knew, he just… felt the need to ask, just to fill the silence.
“Arrows.” Charles simply replies.
“Huh..” Arthur nodded, taking another sip from his cup of coffee again as he stared at the campfire’s flames in front of him.
”Wanna go hunting later?” Charles abruptly asked, only now looking over at Arthur.
”Hm? Oh, showah.” Arthur replies, nodding. Maybe if he acted like everything was fine and normal, it would be.
”Good,” Charles murmured, turning away to look back at the arrow he was crafting in his hands.
//
It was evening now. Arthur was over by his horse—the big, black, male shire that Hosea wanted him to sell back in Valentine; but, of course, he just… couldn’t get rid of the big feller. He wasn’t sure what to name him at first, but the name Bolt seemed to stick when Jack gave him the name suggestion.
He was brushing down Bolt’s neck with a brush, spoiling him as he did every horse he’s had. Bolt blew a huff of air through his nose, moving his head to brush it against Arthur’s hair, softly nibbling on a strand of it.
“Hey, now,” Arthur quietly chuckled, gently pushing Bolt’s face away from his hair. “Ya gettin’ hungry, boah?” Arthur murmured as he spoke to Bolt, already knowing the answer, even though Bolt couldn’t speak—obviously. He was a horse.
Arthur turned his torso to reach into his satchel, pulling out a beet—Bolt’s favorite, it seemed—holding it up to Bolt’s mouth to take the food from his hand, and he ate it whole, causing a few crumbs to fall from his mouth, nickering happily as he ate it.
”You sure seem to like that horse,” a familiar voice called out, making Arthur turn his head in it’s direction, seeing Charles stood there.
”Oh,” Arthur mumbled, Charles’ words causing a small half-smile to form on his lips. “I, uh, s’pose so.”
”Meaning…?” Charles asked, crossing his arms as he now stood beside Arthur, looking at Bolt.
”Well, he… he’ll do. Fer now,” Arthur explained. Emphasis on the ‘Fer now’, because, well, you never know. Arthur wasn’t sure where or when his horse would go out; especially like Boadicea. Poor girl, Arthur thought, a faint (but not too noticeable) frown coming to form on his lips briefly.
”Well… still up to go hunting?” Charles questioned, looking to Arthur.
”Now?” Arthur said.
”Why else would I be asking?” Charles replies.
Arthur breathed in deep, sighing, then shrugging.
”Showah,” Arthur mumbled. “Why not; how long will we be?” Arthur asked.
”Few days.” Charles said.
”Should we get going?”
”Mhm. First light.” Charles hummed, walking away to go get some sleep before morning. Arthur followed, going to his tent to get ready to go to bed, too.
//
Chapter end :)