thirteenthseal·:
In a time long before this one, Arthur learned to cherish the fragmented memories from each and every incarnation he witnessed. Though he cannot hold them all to perfect memory, what stays with him is treasured with an adoration that even those in possession of all the world’s riches could never truly match. It was these memories that would carry him throughout his many trials and tribulations, kindling to add to the flame that was his very soul.
One of which, was Tristan’s song. Unforgettable, and never to be misinterpreted for another’s by the resolute, sweet sorrow intertwined into its melody.
It is no surprise, then, when that irreplaceable sound hits his ears and he follows it subsequently without a shred of hesitation. Arthur knows this time that this is not a dream, knows that he is awake and with one knight already beside him in the great white, the arrival of the others was no longer an unattainable wish. One by one, they gather, and it is that firm thought that guides him directly to the origin of the bittersweet symphony.
What does catch him off guard thereafter is how he finds Tristan, nestled into the fresh snow while he allows his song to speak for him. He reminds him of a bed of roses, a flash of vibrancy where color has otherwise left them. Though it bemuses him to find him like this, the sight of another, beloved knight makes Arthur feel at ease.
“Tristan.” He thinks to stop him from kneeling, preferring to greet him as a companion instead of a subordinate. If you’ll still have me, he says, willing Arthur’s eyes shut for a hushed, almost sheepish exhale before they reopen to gaze upon him again. As if he would ever turn away those that emboldened his spirit when even he did not realize he needed it. “Fret not, for you too will always be one I hold dear. Please, rise.”
Tristan’s heart feels uncharacteristically light at those words-- he can’t help standing even as he speaks, fingers curling against his chest like he hopes to hold this feeling dear. “... As you wish. my liege.” Even in days of old he’d never been one to lean upon his lord’s rightful titles, skirting around them-- particularly in their last days-- with gentle nods and low bows of supplication. Now, though... he felt that in too many of the pasts he could recall, he’d been cold enough.
“Treasured lord... before I speak another word of reunion... I have yet to truly earn your forgiveness.” Of course he’s the sort to draw things out, even with such a clear and gentle display of acceptance. He’d been dwelling on it for years, after all; daydreaming of the right words to restore the wound he’d left behind. A wound far greater, in his eyes, than any measure of his devotion or his service.
“When I last had the honor of gazing upon you, I coldly...” He pauses to shiver. Maybe lying in the snow wasn’t the best idea? “... rejected the fairness, the kindness you displayed in such equal abundance to all.”
Drawing just a little closer, he settles this time for lowering his head, one eye regarding him hesitantly from behind a silk curtain. “I thought not of the burden it must be to hold such an all-encompassing love, but now I believe I truly understand.”













