This is How it Could Be
There is pain. And fear. And suspicion.
There are secrets. And pacts. And betrayal.
There is grief. And bitterness. And seclusion.
There is no way they can survive this. It will be the end.
Pain
No one was supposed to get hurt, and no one was supposed to die.
That day Arthur lost three knights, struck down before they even knew the beast was upon them.
If any other proof was needed to confirm the idiocy of this quest, it was when Cador misfired, the beast twisting from the arrow's trajectory and leaving it free to bury itself in Jocelyn's side.
Arthur had said no three times before agreeing to her accompanying them. He had doubts as to the wisdom of her coming and hadn't spoken to her for the entire ride, hoping his displeasure would make itself known and she would think twice before demanding to be part of a quest again. He had had no choice but to capitulate, however. Jocelyn had been confined to the castle for over a week due to the danger the kingdom was in and Uther's decision to allow only Arthur and his knights to roam abroad. If Arthur had refused her request she would only have followed them anyway, or have gone off by herself and got into greater trouble. At least this way he could set down some rules.
She was supposed to stay back, safe and out of the way while they dealt with the threat, turning her part in this perilous adventure into barely more than a ride through the forest. But she hadn't kept to her promise, edging forward inch by inch until she was too close.
And now she was clasping her side, vermillion blood staining her soft white hands, and she was sinking to her knees before him, eyes wide, staring and shocked.
Jocelyn was going to die.
Blind fury seized him and he rushed forward, a single powerful thrust dispatching the beast with strength that was drawn from panic.
He reached her side; kneeling in the mud that was mixed with blood, part beast, part Jocelyn.
Her breathing was sharp and shallow, and she was fainting, grasping onto his sleeve with white knuckled force, obliterating white pain searing through her side.
It is Arthur's fault, he was sure of it, he had killed Jocelyn and no one would ever forgive him, least of all Morgana or his father.
He knows nothing can be done, not even Gaius can fix this deep wound that will not stop pouring out Jocelyn's life, no matter how hard he presses it, binding it so tightly she screams.
As he lifts her onto his horse, she passes out and he oscillates between considering it a mercy so she doesn't have to suffer the pain anymore or make his skin crawl with brave whimpers that escape her tightly clenched jaw, and being scared that this means that she will slip away without him even noticing.
Gritting his teeth, he swings himself up behind her and kicks his horse into a gallop, riding hell for leather back to Camelot and ignoring the knights trailing behind him.
Miraculously, and Arthur is sure it is a miracle, or sorcery and he doesn't even care, Gaius can help Jocelyn, and he does, slowing the bleeding and then stopping it all together.
Morgana is beside herself and is taken from Jocelyn's room in hysterics, sobbing that she had known, known it was a bad idea for Jocelyn to leave the castle, she had told her.
Uther sits in the antechamber, slumped in a high backed, ornately carved, and uncomfortable wooden chair, chin propped up on one hand, staring into the fire. The women in his life so often leave him in this position, waiting, helpless and hoping against hope that he would be able to see them alive again.
Arthur paces beside him, short, measured strides that take ten to make it from one end of the room to the other. A brief pause and he turns and goes back again.
Merlin is sitting at the long table off to one side, an informality Uther only allows because he is unaware of it. His fingers tap out a rapid rhythm on the surface, silent for the most part, but growing quicker and louder whenever a particularly distressing thought occurs to him.
Finally, finally the door opens and two maids scurry out, bearing bowls of bloodied water they take off to the kitchens. Gaius emerges after them, looking tired and older, and gives the King a weary nod.
Uther starts to his feet and clasps his physician briefly on the shoulder before entering the room, Arthur and Merlin close behind him.
Jocelyn is so pale it is almost translucence and she is incredibly still, too carefully arranged for it to be reassuring. Close inspection, however, reveals her chest rising and falling very slightly, light breaths that come as a relief to every man in the room.
She remains this way for several days, waking briefly once or twice, but delirious and groggy before succumbing to sleep once more.
The day Arthur enters her room to see her awake and smiling, is a shining landmark in his life. She is propped up on her pillows, watching birds wheeling through the sky out of her window, but turns when she hears him come in. She gives him a small smile, but puts a finger to her lips and nods towards were Morgana is deep in the sleep of the exhausted by the fire.
He nods as well and comes to sit near her, remaining silent. He doesn't actually have to speak to her, after all. Later he will apologise and she will tell him not to be ridiculous, but he won't think it is ridiculous at all and will need to do it. Now, however, he will sit here quietly, happy just to know that she will be ok. Fine. All right.
Not dying today.