The Citadel of Camelot, Monday, Some Time

[bitch_prince]

The past 24 hours had been impossible. Terrifying. Horrible. First there had been Morgause, the female knight. Then the promise of seeing his mother. Then Ygraine, his mother, beautiful and sad, so close--

And then he had found out his father had murdered her. Using magic. Impregnating her with magic. Making him... what did that made him? He did

Comments

[bigdamndestiny]

And look, they saved themselves from a whole slew of insane plots that involved the return, death, return, death again of Lancelot.

Poor, poor Lancelot.

"Arthur--"

[thatsamilkshake]

"Are you okay?" The less important questions -- like And do we need to be worried about somebody burning us at the stake now? More worried than usual, I mean? -- could wait. As could specifying which of her friends Francine was talking to, frankly, since the question was a good one for any of them.

[thismaskiwear]

Another thing they'd saved themselves from was the endless, profanity-laden tirades Katchoo would have gone on if they had to deal with those plots. Whatever entertainment value was to be had there wouldn't be worth the eardrum damage in the long run.

But back to the point.

Really, that Katchoo hadn't tried to incite Arthur to further violence or, you know, tried to peel someone's face off herself was a surprise, but some things (like, say, defacing and immolating your stepfather's grave) you had to do for yourself, so she'd been a quietly seething ball of rage. For the record, maintaining the quiet-but-seething aspect of it was exhausting.

"Yes or no'll do," she said in a surprisingly mild (for her) voice. She wasn't going to make him talk it out now.

[bitch_prince]

Arthur was silent for a downright unnatural stretch of time. His jaw hadn't unclenched since he had stormed back here in a rage not too long ago; it was likely unhealthy.

Frankly, he was not so certain he should not go back in there and finish the job after all. He did not know where else to go or what else to do, an ember of fury burning still in his gut, a blanket of exhaustion settling rapidly over his mind. Part of him wanted to curl up and cry and do little else.

"Yes," he said, and strode past them, armor and all. "Saddle the horses. We are leaving."