He knows something's wrong when his son doesn't come home.
Meliodas can feel it in his bones, tingling underneath his skin as his demon blood hums with his unfiltered anxiety. He itches to move, to fight, to distract himself even though it feels like the walls are closing in.
Tristan had left for Benwick a week prior, to visit Lancelot and attempt to find a way to lift him up despite Percival's death, to attempt to bring him back into the fold.
He left with his Platoon, Isolde and Chion, and Meliodas trusted them of course. But, his son was powerful just by himself, so he was at least a little reassured in that aspect. Meliodas never thought Arthur would attack again, not now, not when he'd succeeded in ridding of the prophecy.
Isolde is limping, holding up a barely awake Chion, and all of his fears suddenly come true.
They were attacked by Arthur's knights.
Tristan tried to buy them time to get out of there.
Tristan didn't come home.
His son had been /taken from him/.
He enters the meeting hall, opening the doors himself and feels as though he's working on autopilot, like someone has taken over his body and is doing everything for him because--how could he do anything else? How could he? When his worst nightmare has become reality.
Elizabeth, his wife, his beautiful, gorgeous other half, his strong, /true/ soulmate stands at the end of the table whilst other Lords of the realm discuss amongst themselves. They had been for days, inside of these four walls, panicked now that Percival's death was made public. Elizabeth had been attempting to placate them, to reassure them that not all was lost.
But, it was. Everything was lost. His son was gone.
Meliodas doesn't feel the tears on his cheeks, nor does he feel the stare and silence of every knight and lord now that he's entered. He simply limps his way over to his wife who's staring at him with wide, golden eyes, absolutely frozen as she watches her husband and his hunched over form, like he'll fall apart.
Something's wrong. Something's happened.
She goes cold, an unmistakable numbness taking over her, true, /pure/ fear taking ahold of everything she is.
She's never felt such terror before. Not ever.
Meliodas finally makes his way over to her, exhaling shakily before he reaches up to gently grab her hand and, for a moment, it looked as though he were moving to softly graze her stomach, her womb, before he twitches to grasp her palm and turn the two of them around towards the fireplace behind them, away from the eyes of the lords and knights staring at them as though they're ghosts.
Elizabeth feels her husband shake, /shake/, and she thinks she knows.
"Arthur-" Meliodas' voice is hoarse, as though he had been screaming. "He took our boy, Elizabeth. Our baby."
Her worst nightmare, now a reality.
She rips her hand from his, going completely cold, cold as corpse, and takes a step away from him, skin going paler than that of a ghost.
She moves to take another step, and nearly falls over, her foot shaking.
Elizabeth /trembles/, fear overriding her, terror and horror making a home inside of her insides, replacing her blood for dread, and her bones for panic. Her heart beats loudly in her ears, resounding throughout her skull as she moves away from him, trying and nearly failing to hold herself upright.
Her hands reach up to grasp at her stomach, where she once created life from, where she once held her son away from the whole world, where her son couldn't be taken from her.
She bows her head and shakes uncontrollably, all noise turning muffled as grief immediately takes over her, fills her senses and she /sobs/.
/No, no, no/, her mind begs. /Please, let this be a nightmare. Please/.
Her son, her boy, her baby. Gone. Gone. Gone.
/"Is the Queen alright?"/
/"Your Grace, are you-?"/
Her son, her boy, her baby. Taken. Taken. Taken.
What else would this world take? What else would the Gods deem her unworthy of? How much more would she suffer?
Arthur had been her friend, her ally, but he had lost his way.
She had been prepared to save him, to help guide him back on the right path because-it wasn't his fault. It wasn't him anymore, it was Chaos inside of him, controlling him, making him do things he wouldn't ever normally do.
She was prepared to forgive him.
But there was no forgiveness any longer.
Elizabeth had none left to give.
Suddenly, she lifts her head back up and stands upright, very suddenly calm as she exhales once, twice, three times, through her parted lips.
It was as if all sorrow and grief had been burnt away, burnt away by the boiling, ever so careful /rage/ consuming her, taking over all she was and all she'd ever be.
She can feel the tears drying on her cheeks as she turns around, facing her husband and the rest of the room.
Meliodas stares at her as though he's never seen her before.
The lords and knights all rear back at the sight of her.
"His head," She heaves as her skin boils alive. Her stomach is an empty vessel now, barren and cold. "Bring me Arthur Pendragon's /head/."
She wasn't a defenseless little princess, she hadn't been for a long time, but for the first time since facing off against the Demon King, does she truly feel as though her rage could transform her into something vicious.
Meliodas' eyes are shining still, filled with tears, but they're empty, nearly lifeless, and they are the same in their shared grief. But, hers burns brighter than the light of a thousand suns, and his is an empty cavern filled with nothingness.
The grief and rage of losing a child could burn down the world. Either the Kingdom of Britannia or Kingdom of Camelot could be allowed to prosper, but not both.
Arthur Pendragon would reap what he's now so viciously sown, would pay for everything he had taken from her.
After all, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
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