Without You (OPEN)

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The camp was still a long way off from the centre of the resistance effort, something which he had never considered before now. It had been a strategic placement, someone needed to watch the coast, in case the enemy got a hold of some ships and thought they could sneak round the back of them and he had been more than happy to set up camp there. It seemed foolish now. It was so far away, so far away from the others that could help, so far away from the people that may have been able to stop what happened from happening. He had driven the horse to exhaustion, crashing through all the checkpoints set up by the resistance to stop any spies coming through. Not that it mattered much, most of them recognised him and the ones that did not, well they did not stand a chance in stopping him.

Leaping from the horse the minute it stopped in front of the academy he took the stairs two at a time, pushing the guards that stood watch there out of the way. He thought maybe he had warned them, no threatened them not to stop him or he would have their heads, but it was all a blur. Everything was a blur, he was not thinking straight. He had looked for Merlin and could not find him and so had done the next thing he could think of, he had gone in search of the leaders. The ones in charge.

Crashing through the doors he held up the note and said to all that were there, “He’s dead. Arthur he…they got him…he’s…he’s dead.”

[Merlin Emrys]

Merlin had gone to the leaders himself, he'd half expected to see Arthur there, discussing some new tactic or strategy, but he was there with or without Arthur often enough that it hadn't been difficult for him to get in, especially not when he'd recieved word from Balinor that he wanted to discuss with the council.

Word that was luckily not very important, because he immediately forgot it when Gawain came bursting through the doors.

He's dead

Arthur

He stared at Gawain in shock, whatever words he had been about to say dying in his throat. It felt, for a moment, like his heart stopped beating, like his lungs stopped drawing air and everything, everything just... fell away. The world disappeared in the wake of those few words and for a long moment Merlin couldn't find anything.

Then it all came rushing back with a burst of utter desperation and he shook his head.

"No. He can't be, it's not possible."

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(I'm jumping in here too. If that's not cool, just let me know and I can hop right out again)

Beowulf pulled at the laces on his arm braces, tightening them as he sat with the other men that called themselves leaders. Why Beowulf was included in these discussions he wasn’t sure. He hardly spoke and was not one to take orders from any of them. He told them what he planned to do and the others could do as they pleased. Beowulf didn’t care. Not one bit. And now that he was injured he sat there with a sour expression thinking of ways to sneak into the Wayron camp without being detected and thrown into one of the cages. He wouldn’t be any use to Sunny if he was also caged.

He sighed as the doors burst open and turned to look at the man that came crashing in. Another noisy heathen making unnecessary noise. It was very bothersome. And then the man spoke and suddenly he had Beowulf’s full attention. Arthur was dead.

It was unfortunate, but the war would go on without him. He had been a valiant warrior and if he had been a Viking he was sure that Odin would welcome him to Valhalla warmly. As is was, he was a heathen and would not get to sit in Valhalla. It was his loss, especially since he was probably one of those heathens that would be sent to heaven.

“His second in command will take his place,” Beowulf commented unconcerned from where he was sitting. It was common in war to lose a leader. “He was a good man.”

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Gawain was not sure who he was supposed to be speaking too, Arthur had always dealt with those higher up in the chain, Gawain just had his own little platoon to worry about and that was it. Merlin was there, and he saw the look of devastation on the boys face. He was Arthur’s manservant but Gawain knew that the two had been good friends as well, in hindsight he realised he probably should have been a little more tactful with his announcement. But he was dealing with his own loss as well and whilst they were friends Merlin would surely understand that family was more important. Their families may not see eye to eye but Arthur had been his cousin and in recent months a good friend, someone he could look up too, and now…now he was gone.

The other man spoke, Gawain recognised him as Beowulf, one of the Vikings that Arthur spoke about fondly. The man was gruff and straight to the point, something that Arthur had liked about him, a good fighter too according to his cousin, if a little rash. It seemed the he had held Arthur in the same esteem. He was one of the leaders, he was sure, and crossing to him held out the letter to him. “I found this, in Arthur’s tent. They’ve taken him, the…the body that is…we…we cant bury him…”

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Something told Gandalf that he was too late. He couldn't shake that sensation, the fear that gripped deep down in his soul. It had been too long; he'd been too lax; something was bound to have happened. He'd placed a war in the hands of yet another young person not quite ready to step up to matters, and then he'd left without saying more of a word.

Now the wizard rode and rode hard, the wind catching his white robes and making them fly out behind him. His heels dug into the horse's flanks, and the animal whinnied in response. Gandalf could hear the thundering of another pair of hooves behind him, the reason for his leaving close on his heels. But even with her so close behind him, even with the knowledge of what she brought and what she meant, Gandalf still couldn't shake the feeling of dread. It possessed him.

Gandalf galloped through checkpoints, shouting at various soldiers to allow him pass. He couldn't help but draw connections to another, similar event, when he'd thundered into another besieged castle. There had been great damage done during those battles as well. Now though, the wizard had to jerk his horse around students, though he saw that most of those that remained were... older than he'd expected. Several were armored and armed, and Gandalf suspected that things had gotten decidedly worse. The dread twisted the wizard's gut again, and he grunted.

In a fluid motion, Gandalf leaped from his horse. His staff flew into his hands, and he spent nary a second arranging things. His feet flew before him, his path set. The wizard practically vaulted up the steps, taking them several at a time. He could hear muttered curses and lighter footfalls behind him, but the dread drove him onward. Within minutes he reached the door. He rose the staff, and the doors swung outward, crashing into the wall. The wizard entered then, his eyes searching the faces, seeing the dread.

"Well," he said, pausing to straighten his disheveled robes, "I take it things did not go well in my absence." He paused, his eyes scanning. It didn't take long to see faces, many faces, missing, but one key stood out. "Arthur, something has happened to him, has it not?"

Gandalf paused, his expression dire. His eyes shifted as he heard the footfalls keeping up, and heard the panting of someone just behind him.

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Cimorene's first act upon returning to Tintagel was going to be to kill her guide. Gandalf had just shown up, looking all wizardly and commanding. He'd gone straight for Cimorene as if drawn there, and Mendanbar had been, well, upset was putting it rather mildly. There had been threatening, and something about wash water and such. Gandalf had quickly launched into a rather lengthy speech, something about dark times and pressing business. Rene had only really caught bits and pieces, but she understood enough: her friends were in danger, and they needed help. The decision to throw on her old sword and contact some old friends had been an easy one.

Which was why Queen Cimorene of the Enchanted Forest was clinging desperately to a horse, following a madman as he charged through what was quite obviously an enemy camp. Rene was much more concerned about the fleet of dragons that were waiting for her contact. After all, dragons weren't exactly considered... helpful creatures by most. Gandalf had been most insistent on the whole army bit though, and it wasn't like Rene could really contact anyone else. It was dragons or nothing.

The dragons remained just within contact though, while Gandalf and Cimorene rode hard for the main building. Rene dimly recognized most of the places; she'd been there once upon a time. She recognized a face or two as well as they blurred past her, though she could hardly manage to wave at any. Gandalf stopped at one building, and Rene scrambled off her horse. She didn't have time to catch her breath though: the wizard was flying up the steps.

"Where's a wash bucket when you need one?" grumbled Rene. She picked up the skirts of her riding dress and hurried as best she could. Dresses were not generally made for fast movement, and Rene was still adjusting to her sword. Still, she made a valiant enough effort, and got to the room shortly after Gandalf did. The wizard made his grand entrance, and Rene was the panting, desperate girl behind him, bent over nearly double and feeling very much like she wasn't about to help anyone.

"I'm... here..." she panted, taking deep breaths, her chest aching. She managed to just look up, realizing that she recognized nobody but Merlin. To him, she offered a slight smile and a raised hand, though she supposed that Gandalf certainly commanded far more attention than she.

[Deleted]

Beowulf took the note from the other man gruffly and frowned at his words. War was something that Beowulf was familiar with, but why would anyone want to take a dead body? Especially that of a commander.

The Viking glowered at the note in his hand. It was very clear that the opposing army was trying to throw them off by taking down one of their leaders. It was always an effective strategy. The fighting men would lose morale and start to rethink the whole fight. What didn’t add up was that there was no body. There was no proof that Arthur was dead other than a note and Beowulf was never one to trust his enemy was anything other than an oath breaker. Any man who could take down the great warrior Arthur should have been bragging about it and displaying the body for everyone to see. And yet, there was no body to be found.

Beowulf stood, note still clutched in his hand, prepared to mention this when the doors crashed open revealing the wizard and then a moment later, a girl. The Viking glowered at them. “Arthur might not be dead,” he supplied, “but Wayron has him. They say he’s dead, but if he’s dead, then why not leave the body as proof? It would bring down morale and give them an advantage. Arthur’s alive. There is no other explanation.”

He turned to the others in the room, looking at them all carefully. “Word can’t get out. If the people know, they might panic. This information stays here among us. No one else can know.”