Two days.
William kicked the door in, the weak wood splintering under the force of his boot, giving entrance to the filthy hovel. Four cracked walls, a crumpling sod roof and cold, damp dirt for the floor. A spider's web had been spun across most of the rafters. The only piece of furniture, a wood bare table, is knocked over on its side. There is no one there. No thieves, no murderers... no Arthur.
William kicks the table across the room with a low growl of frustration. His hands tug at his grey hair in a fit of despair. Before the archer steps out the door something half buried and glinting in fading light catches his eye.
Crouching, William realises it's Excalibur; carelessly tossed away and covered with cold dirt. There are blood stains on the blade. A grimace colours William's face and he stalks out the door. The weight of Arthur's sword in his hand is heavy.
(And all the people scurrying about in the road part way for him and his anger.)
Three days.
Tristan is with him this time. They kick the door in together, sending it flying into a person's head. It's a former baron; one of the people responsible for their missing King. Tristan does nothing as William grabs the man by the scruff and shoves him face first into a bucket of wash water. The man sputters and pleas and he'll tell them everything if they'll just please, please let him live. William doesn't really care. He doubts the man knows much of anything. This is merely a conduit for anger that has been stacking up. He lost their King. He failed as a knight yet again. So he sees in his own eyes.
Tristan does nothing once more as William shoves the man a little too hard into a supporting post. Doesn't say anything when the man fails to get up right away.
(Says nothing of the local law enforcers finding a dead man where they had been the day before.)
Four days.
Tristan begins to worry in earnest. William is angrier. Neither Bedivere nor George try to halt their unknightly behaviour. It will only continue to worsen until Arthur is found; their time is better spent keeping the kingdom afloat and telling Blue not to worry.
No one can find Arthur though. They have names, but no faces. Tools, but no way to utilize them. There are politics and tedious laws to wade through. It's frustrating. Exhausting.
And there's the small seed of doubt that yes, they will find Arthur, but not alive.
The thought makes Tristan sick and sends William storming through the halls of the castle.
Bedivere sighs and focuses on the papers before him. Power over a fief or no, the barons, and count, will be held accountable for their treasonous actions.
(Even if that means ensuring William does not get executed for his own actions.)
Five days.
William is uncertain whether he can take another day with no success. Arthur was crowned king only recently and now he has been lost. They should have seen this situation coming. There were many yet whom held allegiance to Vortigern. Out of true loyalty or spite that an uneducated man wore the crown.
They should have been more prepared. He should have been.
William is ashamed. However, he has no time for self loathing and turns to anger. Bitter, bitter anger that sends him tearing Londinium apart in search of Arthur. The irritatingly strong headed blond has found a place in the few that the archer calls friends. And it serves to fuel William's guilt and shame as though the whole ordeal is solely at his blame.
Not a knight questions when William bursts into the castle and hauls the latest suspect to their feet. A shriveled man; he is begging and sniveling pathetically for mercy that is unlikely to come. At least from the archer. The information the cowardly man gives them convince the knights to turn a blind eye to William's conduct.
(Convinces them not to speak of the blood drenched clothes or the turncoat's ramblings of a devil.)
Six days.
The door to the dank, cramped cellar collapses in and the silhouette of a man with a bow takes its place. For a moment nothing moves and Arthur's addled mind almost misses that it is real. There's a blur of movement and a flash of pain before someone is calling his name. Arthur slowly comes to the realisation William is there. The archer's mouth is moving and he's pressing down painfully on Arthur's side. Another person joins the shadowy image of William and Arthur is even slower to recognise Tristan. The pain in his side is growing and unbearable heat is engulfing his body. Arthur wants to tell William off and Tristan to stop fussing like an old hen. Nothing but unintelligible words slip past his chapped, bloodstained lips.
There is red all over William's and Tristan's hands when they set about to move Arthur. The latter finds that strange.
Stranger yet, there are dark, shadow like images and bright shrouded figures flickering across his vision. One or two might be real and Arthur briefly sees Percival and George.
Arthur thinks he should be afraid or concerned (or many things all at once); he doesn't. Instead Arthur lets himself drift away from the pain, the fire in his skin and the voices telling him to come back.
(To please, please don't die, Arthur.)
Seven days.
William breathes in deeply as he settles beside Arthur's bed. Tristan is asleep at the foot of the bed, has been there since they brought their king back. Percy is huddled on the floor beside the door.
The archer watches Arthur breathing briefly before resting head to curled hand, propped on the armrest. Closing his eyes, William allows himself a moment to flit through chaotic thoughts.
There were a few hours of the night they believed their king would not see the dawn. A few hours William thought he had effectively killed Uther's heir.
By God's grace and adept healers, Arthur still lives and with every passing hour shows minute improvement. How the blond had survived days without treatment to the infected stab wound is nothing short of a miracle.
William is almost giddy with relief that Arthur is safe, that he's home. The relief is quickly drowned in a rash of protectiveness. In burning determination, the knight silently vows to never let this happen. Briefly, William considers ensuring that in stone by making their prisoners disappear permanently.
However, he remains seated by his king's bedside, letting anger simmer down to a single thought. Whatever may come, be it bad or tragic, he'll rip anyone to shreds should they dare again to mess with his friends, his king, (his family).
*Generic, but witty disclaimer*
R&R pls, and thx for scrolling through:)