Oh Arthur

Summary: It's not just Charles who finds what's left of Arthur.

Words: 1.3k

Tags: Angst, Hurt/no comfort, major character death, mentions of illness, sad ending, grief, we all gonna be sad together

"Bury me west when I'm gone."

"Quit talking like that."

"My darlin, I'm serious. You know the life we live."

"I do, but now's not the time to be so morbid. And besides, with Dutch's plan and whatever money he's got waiting for us, we can tie up our loose ends and just be gone from this place. Settle down and grow old and wrinkled."

"I believe you, honey, I do. And no one better to disappear with but you."

A load of bullshit that wish was looking back now ever since the day of Arthur's passing. An inevitable fate you knew would be your cross to bear as someone who loved him fiercely. Every waking day from the moment he told you of his diagnosis was a constant straining of your ears to listen for the moment when the dynamite detonated. Each wheeze and cough spiked your heart rate, sending you in his direction. Every day you'd think, "No, not now!"

That 'now' soon came, and it was worse than you could have ever imagined for Arthur's end. The man of such vitality and strength, reduced to a walking carcass, was forced to fight against the men who were supposed to be his allies.

You remembered begging to help him and John and then pleading with him to run. But Arthur, brave and foolish Arthur, took your hands in his and kissed them for a long moment. He looked into your eyes, his bloodshot yet achingly in love, like he was looking at you for the first time.

"If you love me, you'll run and be free," he had said.

"Arthur no-" you cried.

"For me, y/n! For me," he begged, squeezing your hands.

For love, his love, you ran. You joined Abigail and Jack and waited until John stumbled to you three, injured, wearing Arthur's hat. That's when the world grew dark.

You gripped the reins of your horse tighter, the rope digging indents into your skin. The faces of the cowardly bastards who let the man you loved die flash in your mind. You're nearly ravenous for revenge.

Bill.

Javier.

Micah.

Dutch.

The day you finally get your hands on those men, you doubt God himself could pry you away from the hell you'd bring to them. Dutch especially. You hated him the most for betraying Arthur, the man he considered to be like a son. He'd given all his life just for Dutch to stomp on it, and for what? A traitorous rat. Micah ruined the gang and dragged innocents into his stupid schemes, and Dutch just let it happen.

You would curse those two vermin till the day you die.

"Y/N. You're straying."

You snapped out of your thoughts upon hearing Charles's voice. He was waiting a few paces away on Taima, his horse, his expression neutral as usual. But you could detect a deep exhaustion in his gaze. He dreaded this trip as much as you. After all, Arthur was dear to him too.

"Sorry. I was… somewhere else." You answer with a sigh. Charles nods and keeps riding forward, you tagging along after him. The whole journey had been quiet. Neither you nor he had the mind to say anything, considering the purpose of your journey. But ever so often, you'd notice Charles glancing over at you, almost as if he was checking to see how you were faring or when you'd break into pieces. Guilt gnawed at you for worrying your friend and making him watch your eventual breakdown when you both find Arthur.

Or what's left of him.

Almost as if sensing your internal conflict, Charles speaks up in a quiet tone. "Are you sure…" he asked.

"About what?"

Charles looked pained for a moment. "Do you want your final memories of Arthur to be the state we find him in?" That question was an arrow right to your gut. You knew what he was implying. The man you loved, once so strong and full of life, reduced to a husk of a corpse lying strewn on some rock, would mark your final meeting. Was that the right way to see him one last time? Even more importantly, would you be able to handle it without breaking into pieces, never to be whole again?

Maybe this was your way of punishing yourself for running away even though he told you to. A way of fate telling you, "Look at him. Look at what you left behind and repent." Cruel, but you'd accept it. Another way of spinning it around was that seeing Arthur would push you to anger and your eventual revenge. But then you'd think of Arthur, and sink underwater again.

"He asked me to bury him. It's all I can give, Charles." Your voice, though small, is set on seeing this through. "You don't have to bother about a grieving soul like me. You already have enough to bear."

That makes Charles look up. Before he can speak, the shriek of an eagle turns both yours and his attentions to birds circling above a cliff looming over the Cumberland Forests. Your stomach drops, and Charles swallows tightly. That was around there where Arthur told John to run away.

You both climb off your horses and ascend the steep path upwards. Your throat squeezes as if choking the air out of you to stop you from going any further. Charles walks ahead, scanning the path for any signs of Arthur. He doesn't wait for you to catch up. The higher you two get, the louder your ears ring, your body begging you to turn around and never see what would haunt you for the rest of your life.

Then Charles stops dead in his tracks. And then he grabs onto the rocky wall as if trying to hold himself up and together. You step around him…

And instantly let out a cry.

You'd found him, what was left of him, facing where the sun set. A fitting place for his story to end.

Even after all the death you'd witnessed in this world, Arthur's still body was nothing if not anguish-inducing. You ignored the scent of death and threw yourself over his body and wailed. You let out all the tears, pleas, and apologies you'd held back since the day you left him. You mourned him as you expected, but lord above, did you wish it was you dead instead of him. You looked up, hearing soft, trembling breaths and saw Charles kneeling before Arthur by your side. One hand rested on Arthur's dirt-ridden blonde hair while the other was clenched tightly on his thigh to the point his fist shook with suppressed sorrow.

He was shattering too.

You reached out, whimpering from the grief clawing at your chest, and put your hand over his fist. He froze, not looking at you. You squeezed his hand silently, telling him to please mourn with you and that he had a right to fall apart at the sight of a loved one lost.

We'll shatter together, Charles. And then we'll slowly piece it all back bit by bit.

Charles lowered his head and cursed softly as his shoulders shook with tears. The sight of a man usually so stoic and quiet breaking down broke your heart, but you knew he needed to mourn. And you did too.

The two of you cried together over Arthur as the sun sank under treeline, shrouding the west in a quiet darkness. Once the grief settled for now, you'd take him further west with Charles. The two of you would find a spot beautiful enough to bury him in so that his true resting place was not a cold and desolate cliffside. The spot would be just his and no one would ever disturb it. Maybe you'd return to Ambarino again and have a shrine built with flowers to garland it. Arthur had a particular flower he appreciated, and you'd remember it and bring it to the shrine, or even to his burial spot, once you could think again.

There was so much you'd do after. But for now, you'd hold onto the man you loved one last time.

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