The story thus far

Gwen is settling into her new life and home in Wyeledon while difficulties befall those she left behind in Camelot. Elyan, believing Gwen, dead carried the engagement ring Arthur had given to her and never reclaimed back to court, laying the blame for her death at Arthur's feet. Meanwhile the enchanted bracelet landed on the wrist of young woman named Sarah Goode and fear gripped the populace of Camelot as domestic stability was replaced with growing chaos.   

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   The Exile

  -Part II, Chapter VIIII

    In the Mourning

"You can't resign Elyan." Merlin said.

              He shrugged off Merlin's hand on his arm uncertain how the two of them came to be in the hall outside the king's chamber. Moments ago he had been glowering down at Arthur and then Merlin was rushing him from the rumor.

              "Why not?"

Arguments and thoughts flitted across the other man's face with humming bird speed before he sighed and his shoulders slumped.

              "Do you truly believe that she is dead?"

              "I don't know," Elyan admitted "but I know she wouldn't give up those things and they were on the body of a bandit."

              He saw the faint glimmer of tears in Merlin's eyes and felt some perverse sense of satisfaction at that.

              "She can't be. It's not right!" He denied.

              "No it's not," the knight whispered.

              "Elyan I'm-" There was a loud crash from the king's chamber. Merlin started in that direction and stopped.

              "Arthur will want to find her."

              "Why? To what end?" He challenged.

              Merlin's mouth worked and there was another crash and a clatter like armor hitting the floor.

              The knight felt a twisted smile spread over his face.

              "Go ahead," He nodded in the direction of Arthur's chambers.  "We both know what you're going to do."

              A look of hurt flashed across Merlin's face and Elyan felt a subtle softening of the malice that had been riding him since he'd found GJ on that bandit's waist. Merlin truly was Gwen's friend.

              "I'll not be swayed in this."

              "El-"

              There was another crash and Elyan took a step backwards.

              "Go." He waved Merlin away with a dismissing hand and started toward his own room. He had packing to do. He could not let rumor carry this information to his aunt and uncle.         

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Elyan hurried to his chambers to pack. He wanted out of here before the king recovered himself enough to command him to stay. His quarters were sparsely furnished all of his belonging's had their own place and Elyan gathered them quickly. It took very little time to gather most of his things and he wondered as he packed if he always knew he would not remain in Camelot for long.

"Leaving without saying farewell? What happened to the more responsible and considerate Elyan?"

              He looked up from his packing. Gwaine leaned casually against the door jamb while Percival stood imposing as ever arms cross over his massive chest. He sighed.

              Elyan and Gwaine clasped arms and he and Percival exchanged a true hug. He hadn't seen the giant in weeks. Percival, Gwaine –and before Lancelot and Gwen's indiscretion- the king and Lancelot had all been counted as true friends, no more than that, more like a second family.

              "I don't have a lot of time my aunt and uncle mustn't hear about this sordid business through rumor."

              "Quite right," Gwaine said and Percival merely nodded.

              "Leon's not with you?"

              "He's on patrol." Gwaine supplied that information and made himself comfortable on the bed while Percival took the chair. Elyan continued packing.

              "So you resigned?" Percival asked that question.

              "No," he snorted "the king was in no state to acknowledge it, doesn't matter though I can't linger here." Elyan threw a few more supplies into his bag.

              "And Gwen?" Gwaine looked at him pointedly.

              His grip on the scarlet cape in his hands tightened.

              "No sign, no trace." He balled the cape up and stuffed it into his bag. "I'll carry the news to my aunt and uncle and look for her in Wyeledon."     

              "I'll arrange for a letter to my sister."

              Elyan surveyed his quarters and then his bags. Just three of them and he was done.

              "So this is it my friends."

              "Send news as soon as you have it." Gwaine looked as if he would say more but didn't.

              "Of course."

              "Don't assume the worst Elyan it's as likely that she was robbed and sent on her way as she killed." Percival offered that advice and Elyan knew he should listen.

              Percival was the epitome of the man who gained wisdom by listening much and speaking little.

              "Thanks Percy." The three men exchanged a quick round of farewell hugs and were off.

              Unfortunately for Elyan though he was ready even eager to be back on the road his horse Sheba was not. He'd purchased Sheba from the crown out of his knight's salary. Horses were always on loan to knights but purchasing your own gave a certain amount of freedom. Sheba was a good, lovely mare, strong and tough, a beautiful animal but he'd ridden her hard the past few weeks and now that she had gotten a chance to rest it showed. He could requisition a mount he was still a knight after all but he would have to return a requisitioned mount and he had no intention of returning.

              He'd have to let Sheba rest in the stables for a few days at least. Elyan headed to the scriber's in town. He'd arrange a letter to his aunt and uncle telling them not to believe any rumors they heard over the next few days and that he would see them soon. The scriber knew of a messenger heading that way that very afternoon.

              In the meanwhile he would stay with Padrig's parents. Like him they had left the capitol after Padrig had been burnt at the stake and like him they had returned with Uther's death. They would welcome him as if he were their own.

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"Leave me!"  Arthur's shout carried into the hall and Merlin's ears. Moments later several very disgruntled looking noblemen hurried out of the chamber. Merlin concentrated blurring his presence with magic and dashing past the noblemen and guards to enter. He froze at the tableau in front of him for just a moment before turning and pulling the great oak doors shut. 

              Afternoon sunlight bright and gleaming poured merrily over Arthur, highlighting the moment in fine detail. All of Arthur's paperwork littered the floor like an untidy nest, a dull black streak of wasted ink washed over them. Candles that had sat unburning on the king's writing table were now on the floor, some still rolling, along with their candelabra.  After sweeping the content of the desk to the floor the king must have hurled the sturdy table with great force for it lay on its face halfway across the room. The chair, now on its side had suffered equal abuse. Arthur stood in the center of it, sunlight glinting off his hair. He seemed completely unaware of the chaos around him, his whole attention trained on the ring resting in his palm.

-Gwen's ring.

              "Arthur," Merlin drew in a deep breath for a moment it was easier to do the duty he'd assigned himself then think about the possibility of his friend's death. He took a step forward.

Arthur took two steps toward him blue eyes bright with anger.

"I did not want-" He paused mid-sentence and began pacing wildly direction changing each time he spoke.

 "It wasn't supposed to-"

 Arthur trembled and paced to the window.

 "Why did she-" Arthur's breath came out in a gasp "She can't be-" he leant against the window then and slid to the floor eyes once again on the ring.

              Merlin found himself frozen. He'd helped Arthur through so much but he'd never seen him like this before. The sound started with a groan and grew to a tortured wail so painful that Merlin wanted to block his ears and forget that this was happening. Arthur's grief was not meant for him to witness. But it struck such a fear in him for his friend, for Camelot that Merlin could not possibly turn away. He took a deep breath somehow he would help him.

              "Arthur." Merlin crouched in front of him thinking back briefly to how alone he'd felt when his own father had died, when Freya died. He laid a light hand on the other man's wrist, "You're not alone."

              He looked at him finally, expression so bleak Merlin had to resist flinching away.

              "She can't be-"

              Again Merlin was taken aback. He'd never seen Arthur cry. He did the only thing that made sense in the moment. Merlin put an arm around his friend.     

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              Merlin leant exhausted against the stone wall outside Arthur's chamber. Thanks to Gaius the king now slept the sleep of the drugged. He had been tempted to ask Gaius for a share of the potion for himself but if Gwen she- she couldn't be dead! Merlin fought the desire to break down himself and stumbled along the hall and out into the courtyard. 

 Gwen had been his friend long before Arthur ever cast his gaze in her direction. He'd begged Arthur not to banish her. Only three short months ago that she'd charged Lamia with the cry "Leave him alone!"[1] She could have run from that danger, no one would have thought less of her; it would have been the sensible thing for her to do. Gwen was no knight, no trained warrior…But when it came to it she'd run straight toward the danger for him. She could not be dead. She was too brave; too good…Merlin cloaked his passage through the night dark streets of the middle and lower towns with magic evading sentries and passerby with ease, his footsteps ghosting over the hard packed gravel streets.

               Outside the city walls, hidden by the dark of night he used still more magic to speed his feet across the ground into the deep woods. He ran miles in breathless minutes, magic blurring trees and grassy ground until he came to a wide clearing gasping for breath, stitch pinching his side.  Bent double, breathing deep, hands resting on his knees, Merlin caught his breath. He would not give into the grief that had overwhelmed Arthur, not yet. When his breath no longer came in gasps Merlin raised his head and called Kilgarrah.

Kilgarrah swooped in to land coming down gracefully while Aithusa stumbled and skidded to a halt.

"Is he all right?"

"He's fine." Kilgarrah replied dryly.

The baby dragon looked up dazedly. Kilgarrah chirped something that sounded like it might be encouragement and the baby let out a bleating wark before getting to his tiny feet and waddling to Kilgarrah's side.

 Kilgarrah gave the baby dragon an indulgent smile and nuzzled his brow ridge. Aithusa seemed to be growing well and Merlin felt his spirits buoy for just a moment.

 "Helllo Merlin." The dragon said settling his great wings.

The baby chirped a greeting and Merlin chirped back. Aithusa was good deal larger than when Merlin had called him from the egg.

"Kilgarrah I need your help."

"Straight to the point eh?  Tell me Merlin what has happened?"

Aithusa tucked his white wings along his body and waddled off behind Kilgarrah sniffing at the ground.

"I need your help to find a friend. Gwen was supposed to write from Ealdor, but she has not reached there and some of her things were found on the corpse of a bandit."

"So the future Queen is dead."

Merlin flinched back from the words and a streak of white shot from behind Kilgarrah and crashed into one of the trees ringing the clearing. Merlin winced and Aithusa picked himself up with an angry squall in the direction of the forest.

"Aithusa, do not go into the woods."  Kilgarrah's voice rang with frustration and the baby dragon glared over his shoulder but obeyed walking the perimeter of the clearing instead.

"He's taken to hunting. He's not very good as yet." The dragon explained tone softening on the last few words.

Kilgarrah returned his attention to Merlin expression one of distinct boredom.

"Gwen may yet live," Merlin protested "I need your help."

"My help?" The dragon spoke as if he had no idea to what Merlin referred. Kilgarrah was going to be difficult.

"Yes I need your help finding Gwen."

"And what is it you propose I do?"

Just then Aithusa shot across the clearing, running full tilt at Kilgarrah who seemed to take no notice of the baby's antics. At the last minute the baby dove into a tumble and rolled clear under the great dragon to emerge on the other side with a satisfied high pitched roar.

Kilgarrah took a breath "What do you want me to do Merlin? Ignore him."

"You've offered advice before and you can cover far more ground than I, visit more places than I can."

"Why should I do either of those things Merlin? I'm a parent now and I have to spend my time looking after Aithusa. Merlin are you aware of the fact that you woke us up in the middle of the night? Do you know that it is going to be impossible for to get him to go back to sleep. I can't go traipsing all over Britian looking for one woman no matter who loves her." Aithusa chose that moment to begin gnawing on Kilgarrah's foreleg. "He's teething," the great dragon explained.

Merlin felt the beginnings of a smile the monster that had terrorized Camelot for days didn't seem nearly so fearsome now. Then he remembered Arthur weeping over Gwen's ring

"Kilgarrah Arthur can't function like this he feels responsible." Quickly Merlin told the dragon about Arthur's change in behavior since Elyan brought back Gwen's ring. "He's never broken down like that before."

"Good."

Merlin stared at the dragon. "Good?"

"Yes good. Why he would send away someone he claims to love I'll never understand, must be some bizarre human law. Answer me this Merlin how tall is she?"

"What?"

"Your friend's height, how tall was your friend?"

"Perhaps 5'0."

"Any special fight training or skills?"

"No."

"Natural weapons like claws, fangs or magic?"

"No." Merlin answered glumly.

"Have there ceased to be bandits in the woods of Camelot? Does your nation still have enemies like Morgana?"

"No and yes."

"The success of you humans has always been borne by your ability to meet challenges in a group. Casting one out is nothing more than a commuted death sentence."

"No!" Merlin denied the implications of the dragon's statement, "Arthur didn't want her executed that's why he had her exiled."

At that moment Aithusa pounced on Kilgarrah's head his little white beak clamping onto the dragon's ridge. Kilgarrah's eyes went wide and Merlin swallowed waiting to see what the great dragon would do next. The elder dragon reached up and lifted the offending youngster from his head. He held the baby so that the two of them were eye to eye.

"Sit down and do not move again until I tell you to." The dragon's voice was low and careful Merlin did not think he would disobey if he were Aithusa. He set the youngster on his feet and when Aithusa settled Kilgarrah placed one of his claws on the baby's tail.

"Now where was I?" Kilgarrah looked away a moment a thoughtful expression on his "Ah yes! Do noblewomen go into exile alone and undefended Merlin?"

"No," he answered honestly "they have servants, guards, horses…"

"Hmmm," the dragon made his Merlin you're a dumbass face. "Did you even manage to sneak a protective charm into your friend's belongings Merlin?"

"I did but I don't know what happened it must have failed somehow. I didn't have much time to prepare it."

Kilgarrah took a breath "Merlin I am sorry about your friend but this is not something I can help you with. You're to protect his life not fix his every problem. Not shield him from the emotional sufferings that will make him a better man."

"Very well," Merlin sighed and the dull sadness at the death of a friend throbbed in him. "Do you- do you know if she lives?"

"Yes."

"Can you tell me that at least? I won't tell him."

The dragon seemed to consider for a moment.

"I'm sorry Merlin, but I think you must suffer through this too." There was resignation in Kilgarrah's tone.

For a moment Merlin considered bending the dragon to his will. He could do it. He'd done it before.

"I can command you," he said at last.

"You could," the dragon said, "but then you will have lost two friends." Kilgarrah stared at him unblinking until Merlin looked away.

"Heed my advice for once Merlin. Let him suffer through this. If she lives and he finds her he will love her all the more for having suffered this and if she is dead he will value those who remain and any new loves that much more."

For a long moment Merlin was silent. Elyan was surely going to look for Gwen perhaps he could help Elyan instead.

"Very well, answer me this then. If she lived and were in some immediate danger, needed my help would you tell me?"

"Yes."

So she was safe or dead, Merlin felt some sense of relief. Of course the dragon's idea of safe might mean something different than what he would consider safe.

"It is late Merlin. Late me take you back to Camelot or as close to Camelot as I can?"

Merlin nodded numbly.

Kilgarrah chirped to Aithusa who bounded to the older dragon's side. The older dragon crouched so Merlin could mount. It took him a moment to settle himself behind the dragon's neck ridges. Aithusa was already beating his tiny wings and hovering near Kilgarrah's head. The great dragon flapped his wings for several beats, stirring the air around them and then with force of his powerful limbs shot into the air catching current beneath his mighty wings. Merlin muttered a spell to ward of the chill of the heavens and felt his spirits begin to rise.

Aithusa flew alongside them making loops round Kilgarrah that brought a bubble of laughter to Merlin's lips. The older dragon chirped at Aithusa.

"He wants to play, which I normally indulge, but I explained to him that when you're flying with a friend that does not have wings loops and pirouettes are not a good idea."

"Oh." Merlin couldn't help, but grin. Aithusa shot back to them, and hovered at eye height, flying backwards no less. There was more chirping and the baby looked at Merlin a moment before tumbling backwards away from them. Kilgarrah made the sound that passed for dragon laughter and Merlin realized this was still playtime. So as Kilgarrah flew strong and straight Aithusa tumbled, looped, flipped and pirouetted along their path. Always just a bit ahead of them bringing laughter and smiles out of Merlin.

They finally reached the woods just outside of Camelot. Kilgarrah could take him no further. There was no place to land Merlin had dismounted mid-air before. The dragon hovered alongside a tree and Merlin grabbed a thick branch and pulled himself into the tree's branch.

"Merlin I will give you one piece of advice.  Sometime suffering can consume the soul if we do not have the support of our friends and loved ones. Be there for your friend."

He had planned to do so anyway, but Kilgarrah's encouragement strengthened his resolve. Aithusa flew up alongside him and butted his ridged head against Merlin's hand. Without thinking Merlin stroked the youngster's ridges and Aithusa' rewarded him by purring with pleasure. Kligarrah chirped and the white dragon closed his beak gently around Merlin's hand for a moment.

"Be careful Merlin and take care." The two dragons flew away into the night, leaving Merlin to make his way home and suffer alongside his king.

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The arena, place of so many victories, stood empty now. The noon-day sun beamed down, baking the hard packed sandy ground and heating his neck and shoulders to the point of slight discomfort. He rubbed his left hand against his thigh to ease a dull ache there.  She liked the feeling of the sun soaking into her muscles; he liked standing in the shade of a tree and watching her savor it. Relaxing in the sun was not an activity for the arena.

              He had no armor today only trousers and sandals. On this day they would wrestle like Greeks. That dull ache in his left palm increased and he flexed his fingers in an attempt to ease it.

              He looked toward the royal box. His mother and father were seated there together; somehow this did not surprise him. Uther's gloved hand rested atop Igraine's.  Without looking he knew that the rest of the arena would be empty.

              "Mother."                                         

              He said her name and she frowned disdainfully before turning to his father.

              "He's not ready yet."

              "But they've tricked him." Uther said as if it explained everything. Arthur massaged the ache in his left palm and looked up already knowing who would be there.

              Lancelot stood, dressed as he, in trousers and sandals. The dead man did not look at him though instead he addressed the pair in the box.

              "It matters not, he has to be ready."

              Now the knight faced him and in the winking of any eye Lancelot dropped into a crouch and came at him. They were locking up in a test of strength and he wasn't ready, not grounded. He fought back of course, he'd always fight but Lancelot was faster and stronger than he'd ever been in life.  Arthur gasped for breath; somehow the other man had gotten him into a chokehold.

              He tried to push away, push back, let all of his weight fall on the other man and none of it worked. The knight's position was too solid, too well grounded.

              Lancelot's forearm pressed down on his neck and the edges of his vision began to blur. This was dangerous he should tap-out. He gasped for air and Lancelot's arm pressed down harder. His eyes watered and all was a-blur now, the stink of sweat stung his nostrils and the heat of the sun beat down hot and hard.

              "I thought you were smarter than this." Lancelot was taunting him? "I stepped aside for you. I gave up my life for you. I thought you were smarter than this."-

Arthur felt his struggles growing weaker.

"I gave up my life for you-"

He tried to lift his hand, tap out but found it heavy.

"-you were smarter than this."

His life was draining away.

- The arena place of so many victories stood empty now noon-day sun baking the hard packed sandy ground heating his neck and shoulders to the point of slight discomfort. He rubbed his left hand against his thigh to ease a dull ache there. She liked the feeling of the sun soaking into her muscles; he liked standing in the shade of a tree and watching her savor it. Relaxing in the sun was not an activity for the arena.

He was here again without armor. He looked to the royal box and saw his parents.

"He's not ready yet."

              "But they've tricked him." Uther said as if it explained everything. Arthur massaged the ache in his left palm and looked up already knowing who would be there.

              Lancelot stood, dressed as he, in trousers and sandals. The dead man did not look at him though instead he addressed the pair in the box.

              "It matters not, he has to be ready." Lancelot came at him and it happened just as before:

              "I thought you were smarter than this." Lancelot was taunting him? "I stepped aside for you. I gave up my life for you. I thought you were smarter than this."

              Arthur forced himself awake already knowing the outcome       

              "I thought you were smarter than this." Arthur opened his eyes, "I stepped aside for you. I gave up my life for you. I thought you were smarter than this."-

              Lancelot's words echoed in his mind and then memory surged. He opened his eyes and saw familiar canopy of his bed arching above him.

              Guinevere's ring on a cord of leather landing on his desk, like challenge.

              "You killed my sister," surely a nightmare, surely.

              His left hand ached.

              He looked down and the silvery moonlight showed his left hand clenched into a fist resting atop the bedding. A telltale leather cord escaped his grasp, black and stark against the creamy white bedsheets. His mouth was suddenly dry. Guinevere's ring would not be there or- if it were this was surely another dream. He flexed his tense, stiff fingers and uncurled them with agonizing slowness, waiting, waiting…

              "You killed my sister."

              The ring lay in a bloody red circle on his white palm.

              "No," the tears came hot and fast then "nononono,"  he sat up bringing his hands to his face for a moment before hurling the ring across the room, rejecting this new reality, this new world. He heard it land with a dull clank on the stone floor. She could not be dead. Arthur got out of bed and hurried to where he thought the ring might have landed.

              He needed it, needed to keep it, needed it to give back to her if she ever wanted again, just in case. He didn't see it right away and felt panic surge souring his stomach and raising sweat on his palms. Where? He had thrown her away again. He crouched, coming down hard on his knees, to look under the wardrobe. Silver moonlight glinted from it and Arthur reached for the ring, he needed it- The moon ducked behind a cloud and he groped blindly for a moment before his fingers encountered the warm resistant metal.

              Guinevere's ring, his mother's ring- gift of the dead. He closed his fingers around it and sat up breathing deep, weak with relief.                

              Lancelot, his father, his mother, all the dead that he loved together, all but Guinevere, because…? Because she wasn't dead! He looked at the ring resting in his palm.

              "Guinevere," Arthur said her name softly, recalled sliding the ring onto her delicate brown finger, "Guinevere," he said it again and again, like a prayer, a litany caressing the ring with the fingertips of his right hand until a cold dull ache settled into his thighs and buttocks from their contact with the stone floor.  He used the wardrobe to pull himself to his feet and leaned briefly against it. He couldn't go carrying it around, it wasn't safe. He needed something other this leather thong.

              Arthur opened his wardrobe; he had a simple silver chain amongst his jewelry. He found the chain quickly and very carefully untied the leather cord and replaced it. With a satisfied sigh he settled the chain around his neck and pressed a soft kiss to the ring before letting it settle against the bare skin of his chest.

              "Guinevere."

              The leather cord was worn and rough but he had to keep that too, keep it safe. It might be the last thing she gave him.

              He had pushed the carved oaken box to the back of the wardrobe but of course it was still there. He pulled it forward now, throat and chest growing tight at the memory of her tricking him into buying his own present. He thought briefly of the little things she'd made for him, filling it and making it far more valuable with gifts of love, a pair of knitted socks, a pair of gloves, a belt and a bottle of woodsy cologne all made by her own hand, strawberry jam his favorite. They were not in there now of course. The jam had long since been eaten and accessories were all safely put away.

He opened it intending only to place the cord with his other treasures but then the heady scent of her perfume floated up to him and he inhaled deeply. Arthur let his eyes drift shut. He could imagine her footfalls soft, rhythmic and steady on the floor behind him; she would say his name undoing him with two syllables. He'd turn and she'd be standing there, not in one of her new dresses –he liked them well enough-, but in her old dress the one she'd been wearing the morning he'd kissed her for that first, fatal time. That simple soft linen dress flowing over her creamy brown skin, the bodice embroidered with flowers and peacock. It had that tempting teasing ruffle edging along the neckline taunting him to run one finger along the swell of her breast. She was perfect in that simple dress.

Arthur swallowed the sob in his throat and reached into the box pulling forth the token she'd given him that morning, the gift that had prompted that impetuous kiss.  

It had absorbed the scent of her perfume and he lifted it to his nose. Arthur closed the box and took it from the wardrobe where it had sat untouched these last ten weeks, seventy-three days to be exact. He carried the small chest to the table and sat down. The box was now the guardian of her most treasured gifts, things of value to none but himself. He laid the simple token on the table, smoothing the white linen fabric against the gleaming darker wood. From the box he took two roses –now dried- one purple, one red tied together with a ribbon, him and her, her love given to him freely. Arthur placed them carefully atop the linen and turned back to the box. He pulled a folded piece of paper that he could not now bring himself to read forth, another tournament, another token, the braided leather belt that she'd fastened round his waist herself after the pants incident. He stroked the stem of the purple rose and finally lifted out the gift he'd never gotten to give her.

Shortly after their betrothal someone had given Guinevere a silver bracelet. He'd been immediately jealous. Who was giving her jewelry and why? He'd almost insisted that she discard it, but then he though the better of it. It was probably a congratulatory gift, one that would be rude to refuse. No, he had a better plan. A silver cuff bracelet with Pendragon rubies would adorn her arm-far, far better. It was to have been given on their wedding night with a necklace and earrings to follow as customary gifts for the birth of their first son.

Was everything he'd given her now in the possession of bandits? The sliver handled, boar hair bristled brush with comb and matching hand mirror, the setting sun hair clip, the new dresses for which he had purchased the material, the silk stockings he'd fantasized about sliding off her thighs a thousand times, was it all being pawed over by bandits and greedy merchants? What of Guinevere herself? The ring was only a thing, maybe…

Was Elyan right or had she gotten safely away? He could see it now, strange savage men laying rough hands on her. She would resist but…

She didn't like to be alone in the woods.

"You've got me,"[2] "I wasn't going to let anything happen to you."[3]

He sobbed no longer able to hold it back and the tears followed…He had failed her and it didn't matter that she had betrayed him because she was horribly, violently dead and he had sent her to it. Amidst the remnants of his canceled love, bathed in the pale light of the moon Arthur let his grief flow over him.