Let Me Go (Can't Come Home)
The truth was, sometimes, it was difficult for Arthur to pretend he still had faith. As the snow fell down around them, muting the colours of the world, he wondered when would his father accept the inevitable: they had lost. He sighed, looking around the camp and taking in his men's appearance. They wouldn't say anything, but he knew that they felt as little hope as he had. It had been over six months — and no trace of Morgana could be found. Probably, no trace would ever be found.
Uther maintained that she was alive and that they just had to keep looking, but what use could Morgause possibly have for a Pendragon ward if she didn't use her to make demands? They had all expected them — not that they would give in, but ithat/i was the point of having a hostage. But there had been no word, and Arthur couldn't imagine any other destiny for the woman who had been like a sister to him that not the grave.
And graves sprung everywhere to match hers, as good men died in this search. Morgause had done nothing to show her power, but the constant stream of armed man and search parties riding out of Camelot and into other countries had created much strife. Naturally, other kings did not take it well to have a small armies trickling in day after day. Some, like Cendred, had already made it clear that searching patrols would be attacked and killed. Others, like Carleon, were on the verge of doing so. Arthur missed her more than almost anyone, but his father's inability to accept her demise was plunging them into a war they could not win.
He looked around, taking in the vast emptiness around him. Ismere had showed them little more than rocks and snow that hid white wolves, big enough to throw down a man in armour. Here and there they'd find trees too — large, thick and ever green, their stunted leaves ignoring the cold in forests that reminded him of a cemetery. He gestured warned his men that they would made camp when they reached the line of threes, on the other side of the snowed-in plain. For once he was glad that he had left Merlin in Camelot this time, there was no way his servant would've come through such journey unharmed; he was all skin and bones and here the cold was like a living creature, beating them down.
Without Merlin to keep him company, Arthur felt particularly lonely. Most men didn't feel comfortable addressing him — even those whom he had trained personally. Once upon the time, he had been close to all of them, but the last six months had been hard. He didn't know if he had pushed them away or if they had decided that he needed space to deal with his loss, but the result was the same. He missed Merlin, and most of all, he missed Morgana, who would have teased them all for being unable to speak about their feelings; who would've managed to talk some sense into Uther and stop this blood loss; who would've charmed the envoys from other kingdoms and helped ease the tensions — or blown them up even more, with her, it could always be either way. But, of course, if she were there, none of this would be happening.
As they made camp, Arthur sat near the fire. He wanted nothing more but to share some of the camaraderie that he had known as a knight in so many other occasions, but there was something in his face that made people keep away. One of the servants, a young boy named Ronnie, gave him a tankard of mead, and left him alone with his thoughts. Camelot had woken after that terrible spell, but most of the time, it felt as if they were sleeping, and he was left to walk in a world of silence.
Arthur was ready to give up any pretence of being part of the group and going to his tent when Leon approached, sitting next to him. It was clear that the older knight was unsure, but Arthur was grateful for his presence all the same. He said nothing — he wasn't one to waste his words — but he didn't need to. His very presence helped, somewhat. And, of course, courtesy dictated that he didn't address his prince until acknowledged.
"Do you think we will ever find her?" Arthur asked, eventually, looking at the flames.
"I pray we do, sire" he responded, his voice grave.
Arthur looked at him, studying him for a moment.
"Yes — but do you ibelieve/i we will?"
Leon squirmed under his scrutiny, and that was answer enough. None of them believed it. Arthur couldn't blame them.
"I think she is dead" he whispered, finally, feeling as if he was betraying his father in even voicing his thoughts. "But I cannot stop looking. Even if we find nothing but her body — she deserves to be taken home, one last time."
"Yes, sire" Leon said, and there was true warmth in his voice. "So we will keep looking until we find her — whatever we can find. It doesn't matter what it takes, because it is nothing more than what we own her."
Arthur grinned.
"She always had you wrapped around her little finger."
"She had us all, sire" Leon smiled. "You included."
He nodded, trying to ignore how his throat closed up in hearing Morgana being mentioned in the past. Arthur clapped his back.
"You're a good man, Leon."
Leon nodded, accepting the compliment easily. Arthur started to walk away, until Leon interrupted him.
"Arthur" he said, his voice soft and caring. "If — if we can't… if she really is… We'll revenge her."
A determinate grimace was all they could share now that hope was all gone.