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The first thing Arthur feels is his cheek against damp, cold ground. For a moment, he is breathless but it feels different, a process so natural has suddenly become a sensation he had never felt before. When he finally opens his eyes, he is met with a blur of colors. His eyes drift downward, where they fall upon his arm, stretched out in an unnatural angle and blacketed by a sheath of dark red. For a while he simply stares. He stares at himself because what else is there to do except simply fade into the damp earth that encompasses him. He can’t smell the copper in the air anymore, can’t feel the blood covering his hands and stomach dry and crackle as more time passes. He's simply waiting. He's not sure what for, but the numbness that’s spreading through his body is denying any and all thoughts of reason or need, So he waits. The battlefield is a mess around him. Barren land covered entirely by gore and destruction.
For a brief moment he manages to turn his gaze to the side, catching a glance of Merlin beside him. Merlin, who made sure he got the larger rations, Merlin who was always so brave and strong. Steven who is now another empty body lost to the devastation that is war.
He is confused. He wasn’t sure how he had gotten to this point in his life.
Well, he knew how he joined his knights and fought to end a war.
He knew how those things happened. No, he wondered how he ended up here, laying on the wet ground, rain beating down on his face. The droplets a dark gray and seemingly larger in size than normal rain drops, his right hand clasped over his left side. Blood gushing, spilling over and between his naked fingers, staining him. He coughs wetly, blood bubbling up in his mouth as a humorless laugh leaves him. His lips tremble, face turning ashen as he stares up into a darkened sky. His dark eyes closed as he waited for the end. Because this was it. He had always known that he would probably die during the course of the war. Maybe going out in a fire fight or being cut down by the enemy, and he wasn’t wrong,that’s what happened.
But a part of him, a weak and emotional part of him, hoped that he would die of old age, surrounded by loved ones. He knew he had a large family and knew that he wouldn’t be alone. But, it wasn’t so much a regret as it was something to mourn, not having found love. It sounds childish, but he wished someone would miss him. Not just his friends but someone, or even someones that loved him, wholly and unconditionally. But he didn’t have that.
He did the right thing in the end. He made the right call, even soaked to the bone in rain and blood, he knew it was worth his life.And that’s all that mattered.
His lips turned up into a small, soft smile as he faded from the world around him.
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It is his funeral and he feels more alive then he should.
He feels no connection to his body, he's hovering just above the ground, feet firm on an invisible force as he gazes below. For a moment he does not recognize anyone standing at his grave, maybe except for a few faces he would have once called family. Not now. There isn't much he remembers now. Maybe except for the hardwood coffin he is in. The remnants of memories linger in his consciousness, The smell of merlins cooking and the warmth of their relationship. The chaos of a large knightly family and the dragging heavy responsibility that came with it. His knuckles are cold and pale. He feels like a shadow. He cannot move. He wouldn't have moved if he could. What did he expect himself to do? Get up and thank his own family for coming, perhaps offer to speak about himself?
All it once it begins to be too much, he is staring at his own body so still and breathless. The silent whispers from the crowd have become louder and louder, unbearable to listen to so he forces himself to turn away, silent footsteps making their way further and further away from any semblance of his old life. And suddenly death wasn’t the worst thing in the world, perhaps it was loneliness.