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"Arthur." The name was like a ghost on Charles' lips. Cold. Dead. His grief was now frigid and stale, arguably worse than the searing hot pain he felt in his heart before. The swift punch to the gut shifted to an ice cold embrace. Fully enveloping his being.
It still shocked him whenever John brought up the topic of Arthur. Like ripping open a healing cut. It was rare, but the casual demeanor John had whenever he talked of the man long lost, it froze Charles. Felt like ice running down his back. Should the though of Arthur be as easy to him as it is to John?
Charles had always felt trapped, stagnant. Without Arthur, even moreso. Arthur was the Northern star in an unfamiliar sea. He was the compass in the middle of the forest. Now he has no guide, just his sense of direction. That of which is clouded by grief, anger, guilt, and a million other emotions too strong to distinguish.
In the very beginning, when he first found Arthur, Charles thought that long and grueling ride to his lovers final resting spot would be the worst of it. God, was he wrong. He had no clue every night for years would be filled with screaming, sobbing, and shaking. Throwing empty bottles against walls, emptying all ammunition from his weapons in fear of what impulse would come next, punching holes into walls, for fucks sake he almost burnt down shady bell in a fit.
That was when that burning ate at him. Now, it's just cold. At least the burning anger kept him warm. This coldness, emptiness, it was isolating. A constant jab at the back of the head, a constant whisper in the back of his mind reminding him, "he's not here anymore."
How the hell was John so okay? He lost his brother to his father's foolishness, he had to have taken the blunt of the force.
"Charles?" John's voice drew Charles away from the endless fall of his thoughts, and he was suddenly very aware of the firm hand placed on his shoulder. John's hand. Aware of John's presence next to him, the fire crackling in front of them.
Charles cleared his throat, trying to rid it of the burning lump, "m'fine. Just thinking."
"Yeah right you're fine, look like you've seen a ghost or somethin," the hand slipped away, numbness taking it's place.
"Anyway, Arthur had this beaded thing in his stuff. Was wonderin if you knew what it was?" John mumbled as he searched Arthur's satchel. Wooden and turquoise beads tied together in a bracelet.
His eyes and throat burned. His entire body tensed, then threatened to give out. His whole body felt as if it was trembling, and this reflected in his shaking hand as he slowly reached for it. His arm mimicked the slow approach of a beaten animal.
He gently cupped the bracelet in his hands, staring at it. Then it overwhelmed him, that deadening coldness. It drew out the choking sobs, the ragged inhales, the strings of almost silent curses. He closed his eyes and pressed the bracelet to his lips, feeling the coolness of the turquoise beads.
Arthur's smell, despite the years that have passed, was still ever so slightly there, within the wooden beads. The string had been ever so slightly stretched, from putting it on and taking it off he assumed. He wondered just how often Arthur had worn it. How often he had thought of Charles every time he looked down at his wrist.
Charles was drawn back to the campfire he was sitting in front of by John clearing his throat.
"You alright?" John stared at him, concern brimming his eyes. That is when Charles noticed a few wet streaks flowing down John's own cheeks, albeit he was significantly more composed than Charles.
He drew in a long, deep inhale and slowly let it out. "M'fine."
John gave him a look that burned a hole in his chest, a look seeming to say "I see through that bullshit." He stood up with a grunt, "I'm gonna get a drink."
A few moments of silence passed, he held the bracelet gently in his palm, when he heard footsteps approach from behind, booted footsteps. The clank of the spurs and soft thud of the sole hitting the earth. Charles turned to face the sound, assuming John was back from getting the drink, when his eyes were met with the eyes of a deer, eyes that looked alarmingly like Arthur's. Not even six feet away from him, staring. It slowed it's approach, but didn't stop. It walked right next to him, laid down, and rested it's head on Charles knee.
The sun was setting, the sky burning with hued of orange, pink, and purple. The trees gently swayed with the light breeze. The burning orange and pink turned to the black endlessness of the starry sky. A comforting warmth hung in the air, embracing the earth.
Maybe fate was real, or maybe it was a coincidence. No matter how hard he tried to explain away the events of that night, his mind always went back to Arthur. Those eyes, those beautiful forget-me-not blue eyes. He knew, deep in his soul, Arthur had been there with him that night.