he sits there upon his throne with the agony of remembering completely numb.
the king of this castle. the one who rules this kingdom , and yet he couldn't find it in his mind the missing piece that he knew was gone....all of the pain and the bleeding -- the c r u s h i n g of small fae , and yet....he still could not find anything....head in his one hand , leaning back into his throne , while his other hand -- white knuckled -- tight on the head of his seat , mind buzzing with lost laughter and screaming, a voice he could barely even make out....the yellow scars on his chest have yet to heal....he was beyond desperate to know...and to find out that something was wrong....something -- he knew for a fact.....
and then , someone...was coming in.
and all too familiar -- zipping by his mind but it remains duller and duller -- someone -- and they looked e e r i l y like him.
and the smiles and the screaming were all clear now -- like black clouds that moved away from the furthest corners of his mind as he watches on as they moved even closer -- eyes widening and anchor racing -- and he notices that it was that "charming boy" who he found s c r e a m i n g earlier -- mismatched eyes and hair short -- spikey -- a face that look too similar to his --
sunflowers that sing with safety and hope
plushies for screaming out frustrations
sacrifices and the smell of metal and blood
the smell of lightning and breath and love --
what was he doing here ... ? !
that's it -- ah ah ah -- that's it -- another DISGUSTING trick from the fae ! of course! and now they send someone who was trying to harm him ,is that it ... ? ! just some sick and twisted joke ... ? ! the king quickly stands up as yellow blood crawls out of one of his nostrils and yet he could not feel the pain -- and a sword -- yellow and etched with many symbols appearing in his hands -- and he aims for this stranger --
『 " a hallucination -- no -- a SHAPESHIFTER -- what are you doing in MY throne room ? ! " 』 he asks , teeth grit with a twisted angry look.
He can see the look on his King’s face. He can’t see the anchor, can’t see it beating when it’s hidden beneath robes where the Divine keeps it. But he almost feels it’s beat in the room, matching the thunder of his own. It reverberates around him, heavy and hard and makes his eyes sting. There’s-- fear there, almost. Confusion, definitely. A spinning cacophony of everything being T O O M U C H.
He wants to run. The feelings hit him like a tidal wave and threaten to drown his resolve. The King was so many things. So many that were all blending in a toxic miasma that burned in his lungs and twisted his stomach into thirteen different knots. His mouth opened and closed, especially as R A G E took the front, wrath at what he voiced to be a trick.
Why was he here? Why was he doing this to him? Why didn’t he run? Why didn’t he accept the King deserved better? Why was he doing this he was a stain a corruption he was useless he wasn’t worth remembering just stop before he went too far he was better alone--
Arthur swallowed glass. His hands flexed at his side as he stares up at the King, forcing the thoughts washing over him down. He was wading in them still, but he wouldn’t drown. He was doing this for a reason. They were hurting without him, the fae had said. And he’d decided what was best before.
And that had been one of his greatest mistakes.
Arthur opened his mouth and closed it several times, trying to find the words. They stayed locked in his throat, and he didn’t know where the key was.
It turned out to be gold. A line of gold dripping down the king’s face.
He didn’t flinch at the sword levied at him. Didn’t falter from the ire and rage meeting him, even as it pressed down on his chest until he couldn’t breathe. It cut to see that look, to feel it when all he could think about was holding the anchor in his hands to give Kingthur what he needed, standing by his side through danger-- holding him close when he came back.
The king laughing as he tackled him in a shower of rose petals.
He blinked and tears fell, watery ones than what was before. The look cut him to his knees, but he ignored his feelings for now. Ignored the emotions bruising him, the look on his liege’s face, the sword’s wicked, glinting edge and the threat of it aimed at him.
Ignored everything else but that gold streak.
His mouth opened. His face tweaked with a frown, brow drawn together and worry in the cadence of his tone. “You-- you’re bleeding....”
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