Prometheus Rising- Chapter 4/? [Fic]
Chapter 4:
“You said before that Almsloch was five days journey through the forest,” Arthur said as he kicked loose dirt over the remains of their fire. The sun was rising in the distance, only a few hours past the breaking of dawn over the Anhael peaks. “What about now? Have we lost time?”
Alfred shook his head, rising to his feet from where he had knelt to gather his bow. “I was not expecting to come this way, but it has taken nearly a day off of the walk. If we had continued along the path I was planning, we would have had to go further along those cliffs and then climb down onto this plain. The way down would have been treacherous.” His lips twitched slightly, as though fighting against a smile. “That beast managed to save us a lot of time.”
“I’ll make sure to thank it the next time I see it,” muttered Arthur. “But for now, all I truly care about is making my way to Almsloch as quickly as possible. So, if you might lead me?” He gestured vaguely northwards.
“Of course.” Alfred turned away, staring out over the fields towards the distant southern edge of the forest. His hair glinted in the sunlight. He did not wait to see if Arthur was ready to follow before striding away through the tall grass, the tattered hem of his coat brushing against the stalks with each quiet footfall. Arthur hastily chased after him. He felt clumsy and awkward as his boots struck the ground, grass breaking beneath his feet, though they had seemed almost untouched by Alfred’s passing. He half expected Alfred to comment on his human clumsiness, but the demon man remained silent. Arthur kept his voice to himself as well.
The sun bore down on the two of them as it traveled higher in its arc across the sky. The stillness was broken only by the crackle of grass beneath Arthur’s feet and the faint sound of birdcalls from the woods. Alfred’s pace remained quick and unrelenting, and Arthur did not dare speak and disturb their peaceful silence to ask to slow down. Still, he found himself becoming tired. His body was not used to such constant motion after so many quiet years living within the Church. The heat of the sun, unbroken by any kind of breeze or gust of wind, threatened to choke him. Yet he refused to fall behind.
It was not until midday, when the sun rested at its highest position in the cloudless sky, that they finally passed beneath the first straggling trees at the southern border of the forest. Alfred’s strides slowed, then drew to a complete halt, and he turned to regard Arthur. His expression remained mostly neutral. Something flickered at the edges of his eyes, though, a strange muddled color threatening to overwhelm the blue. “You should have told me if I was moving too fast for you to follow.”
“No, it was no trouble keeping up.” Arthur lifted one hand to brush at his bangs. They were matted with sweat, and he winced as he touched the wet strands. “It is simply hot out today.”
Alfred’s expression shifted, his lips turning slightly upwards at the corners. “Hot? This is nothing compared to how the summer feels in these parts. Did the Church keep you all locked away inside its walls during the warmer months?”
Arthur frowned at him. “Pardon?”
“In the Church,” Alfred repeated. His voice was strained now. “Did they keep you locked inside, while the common people labored out in the heat?”
“How do you know I was a member of the Church? I never told you.” Arthur stared up into cloudy blue eyes, suddenly wary.
“I am not stupid. I’ve seen priests before, I recognized the symbol of your pendant. I know what it means. I know what you stand for, and what you have done.”
“Oh, you do?” Arthur snapped. “Tell me then, Alfred, what have I done?”
A long moment passed, in which they did nothing but watch one another. “It is nothing,” Alfred said finally. “I should not have said it.” He turned away, as if to keep moving into the forest, but Arthur reached out to grab the tattered sleeve of his jacket. The demon did not try to pull away, merely released a heavy sigh.
Though he knew that Alfred was not looking, Arthur’s glare did not subside. “No, you do not get to run away now. You may be a demon, but you are not a dog, and I will not allow you to flee with your tail between your legs. Now tell me what you meant.”
“You just said it yourself, I am no dog. Don’t think that you can order me around and expect me to obey your every command.” Alfred pulled against Arthur’s grip on his jacket, oddly gentle for the incredible strength Arthur knew he possessed. Had he wanted to, Alfred should have been able to break free of the hold with no effort. “Let me go. We are wasting time.”
“No. Not until you tell me what you meant by that. If it is your intention to mock me for my choices, so be it, but I expect you to say it to my face. Or is it common in demon culture for insults to be passed behind one’s back like children?”
“Demon culture?” Alfred snarled, his lips curling and nostrils flaring wide, sharp teeth glinting even beneath the shadow of the trees. “Fine. You want me to list your misdeeds for you? It would take me days, weeks, perhaps even years to tell you of all the wickedness you have brought. You and your Church are nothing more than a disease that has stricken this land, spreading farther with each step you take. You poison the very air that we breathe!”
“You know nothing about the Church! You are just-” Arthur stopped abruptly, turning his gaze downwards. His fingers unwound from their clenched positions around Alfred’s arm, and the warm air seemed to grow heavy around his body as he let his hand fall back to his side. The sunlight bore down upon his shoulders and head.
“I am just what?”
Arthur chuckled, a mirthless sound that grated against his ears. “In a way, I suppose you’re right.”
A sparrow chirped in the trees ahead of them, and the leaves rustled as it spread its wings and took flight. Arthur kept his gaze focused upon the ground. The tall grass, growing shorter now under the shade, whispered softly as Alfred’s boots stepped forward into his vision. “I am?” the demon man asked, voice quiet with confusion.
“In some ways, yes, you are.” Arthur did not lift his head. “A year ago, had you told me those same words, I would have shouted, argued, even fought against them, yet now…” He lifted his hands, staring at the pale skin. It was the skin of a priest, of a scholar, of a man unaccustomed to a life of labor. “I no longer know what to believe.”
“I do not understand.”
Arthur shook his head. One hand slid down into his satchel, searching around inside until it came in contact with the spines of his pendant. He drew it out, but did not let his gaze linger upon it, instead cradling it between his palms and looking up to meet Alfred’s eyes. “You said that I am a priest. That is not true. In the past, yes, but no longer.” His thumb smoothed across the pendant’s surface. “They taught me almost everything I know about the world and its inhabitants. I was a boy, simply a young, impressionable boy, and I believed every word that passed through their lips. I am no longer that boy. Now, my mind is my own, and I am free to question anything that I please.”
Alfred stared at him, eyes narrowed, but beginning to brighten with understanding. “You questioned them?”
“Yes, I did. I questioned, and they were not pleased by what I asked, just as I was not happy with their answers.” He frowned, not at Alfred but at himself. “I left them two days ago.”
“Then, that’s why you would not go back to Lamglen?”
“How could I show my face there, after walking away from them? I have my pride, and I do not want to cast it aside, vice as it may be.”
Silence reigned between them. Alfred glanced to the side, his eyes lingering on something within the trees. “I… I misjudged you.”
The words were an apology, as neutral as Alfred’s tone remained, and Arthur nodded in acceptance. “You had reason to, I suppose. I have not done anything to show you otherwise.” He slowly slipped the pendant back into the confines of his satchel. “I wonder, sometimes… Have I truly let the Church go? Is that part of my life utterly sealed away? Or is there some place within me where I am still a priest?” He sighed. “Never mind. It was a foolish discussion, and we are wasting time standing here.”
Alfred did not move. His brows furrowed, his lips turned downwards, as though he was deep in conversation with himself. Arthur watched as some sort of faint emotion flickered across the demon’s face, something soft and almost vulnerable. “I want to show you something.”
“Show me something?” Arthur repeated, uncertain. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t explain it to you. It is something that you must see for yourself.” Alfred turned away, facing deeper into the heart of the woods, but did not start moving. Arthur took one cautious step forwards, then another, until he stood directly beside Alfred, neither regarding each other, merely staring into the sun-dappled trees. They did not move nor speak for a long while.
Arthur was the one to break their quiet peace. “This place that you intend to show me, is it out of the way? Will it slow down our progress to Almsloch?”
“Yes, but only slightly. It will not take more than an hour, two at most, to see it before returning to our path.” Alfred hesitated a moment. “This place… It will help you.”
“Help me?”
“With your dilemma. With the Church.”
“How?” Arthur asked. He turned to look up at Alfred’s face, and was surprised to see blue eyes staring back at him.
“You’ll see.”
Arthur did not ask any more questions, and so Alfred said nothing else, merely stepped forward into the forest. His steps were shorter this time, though no less quick. Arthur followed him easily. The boughs of the forest grew thicker and more tangled above their heads, blocking out what little sunlight had managed to trickle through their leaves. The trees faded into shadow. In this wood, time meant nothing, either passing by in a blink of an eye or rolling on for eternities, and Arthur began to lose track of how long it had been since they had begun walking. He was no longer sweating in the heat, as the air was cooled somewhat by the heavy shade, but his legs were beginning to ache with the strain of such constant movement. Yet he did not ask Alfred to stop, for within the dark shadows he could feel the gaze of many eyes upon him. As long as he remained close to Alfred, he did not fear them, but he did not wish to stay amongst them all the same.
He did not know how much longer they traveled, only that the ache in his muscles was beginning to fade into numbness, when his nostrils caught the scent of smoke. “Alfred?” he said, “Are we almost there?”
“Almost.” Alfred’s footsteps did not slow. Nothing more seemed to be forthcoming, so Arthur allowed their conversation to sink back into silence.
Soon, the thick darkness of the forest began to thin, sunlight once again streaming down into the undergrowth. The sensation of being watched grew fainter with every step. Tree trunks became smaller, less mature, and dotted here and there were rough stumps that seemed to have been hewn by an axe. Arthur nearly tripped over an upright stone marker that bordered the edge of what appeared to be a dirt path. “Are we near a village?” He could not help but wonder what Alfred would want to show him within such a place, or how he intended to get close enough to other humans without causing a panic.
Alfred’s voice was gruff when he spoke again. “Yes, we are. But that is not what I brought you here to see. Follow me.”
Arthur hesitated, his gaze roving down the dirt pathway. It was a hunting path, most likely, and the lack of grass gave it the look of being well used. If he followed it, he would find himself once again in the company of human beings, not stuck with a demon as a companion. They could give him a soft bed to sleep in, good food to eat, perhaps a helpful hand in reaching his destination. Should he show them his pendant, they might even have believed he was still a priest, and accord him high honors and the best of every accommodation. And yet… He turned his head to find Alfred watching him from several feet away. The demon was leaning on his longbow, head cocked slightly sideways. “Well?” Alfred asked. “What do you plan to do?”
“I…” Arthur’s eyes flicked from demon to hunting path and back again. “If I were to go down this path and leave you here, would you shoot me in the back?”
Alfred shook his head. “No.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Have I betrayed you yet?”
“No.” Arthur stared down the path again. He could smell the smoke more strongly now, and amongst it the scent of cooking meat. There was something else as well, something sweet, that he did not recognize. His stomach growled with hunger. “What village is down there?”
“Dartwell.” Alfred inclined his head, though his eyes did not stray from Arthur’s own. “A village that takes pride in knowing it is high in the Church’s favor.”
Arthur frowned. “Why are you not trying to persuade me to go with you?”
“Why should I? I barely know you, and I know that you do not trust me. I have nothing to offer that you could not get from somewhere else.” Alfred’s gaze flickered, nearly glowing blue in the dappled sunlight. “The decision is yours and yours alone.”
“Some demon you are.” But Arthur was once again focused on the hunting trail, his lips still curved downwards as he thought. It should have been an easy decision to make, yet something within him refused to allow the choice to be made so soon. The path was clear before his eyes, solid beneath his feet, and he knew that the logical course to take would be to walk away, to leave Alfred behind and return to human society. He was not trained to walk through the woods like this, not like Alfred. He needed human companionship. Arthur did not look away from the dirt path, but he could feel Alfred’s gaze burning into him. Traveling with the demon had not been easy. His only companion was a man he barely knew, and a demon at that. Their route put him in the way of near constant danger. He was a priest, not an adventurer, and the journey frustrated him far more than it had excited him.
And yet… He chanced a quick look back at Alfred. The demon’s face remained neutral, his chin resting upon the tip of his longbow, watching, waiting for a response. Arthur’s frown deepened. Though he knew it was nonsensical, that he was simply asking for more trouble, but there was some part of him that was curious. Alfred was not what he had been expecting. He had a name, a sense of humor, however bizarre, and he must have had some kind of story. Arthur had always craved new tales. He clenched his eyes shut, drawing in a deep breath. This was ridiculous. He could not make a decision based on his wants alone, especially not when it involved risking his life.
He turned to Alfred. “Well?” he asked, voice sharp. He crossed his arms over his chest. “I thought you had something you wanted to show me.” He had never been particularly good at following his own advice, after all.
Alfred stared at him for a minute, eyes wide, and then his lips curved up at the corners. They did not stop at a faint smile this time, though. They slid open, revealing those predatory teeth, and yet somehow, it was not terrifying. It was the charming smile of a young man, cheeks dimpling, eyelids creasing, not that of a demonic being. Arthur could not stop his own lips from twitching upwards in reply. He attempted to hide it with a furrow of his brow.
“Come on, then,” Alfred said, his smile fading somewhat. He gestured into the wood. “Follow me.”
Arthur spared himself one more glance down the hunting trail. He would not have another chance to turn back until they arrived at Almsloch. Strangely enough, he did not regret his choice. He strode quickly after Alfred. Though nothing more was said between them, the silence was neither thick nor heavy, but subtle, soft, almost comfortable.
As they traveled onwards, the sweet odor that Arthur had noticed before grew more powerful. The scent overpowered all others, becoming pungent and sickly, and Arthur nearly choked on the air itself. Alfred’s free hand was clasped firmly over his sensitive nose. The trees around them grew thinner, more sparse, and finally stopped altogether as they passed into a large clearing.
“We are here,” Alfred said quietly. Arthur moved forward for a better look at whatever he was meant to see.
In the center of the clearing sat a large mound. It was not made of dirt, and no grass grew upon its slopes. Arthur peered at it, but could not make out what formed the shape. Set around the strange hill were tall pikes, carved crudely of various sized branches, and hanging from each pike were what appeared to be bags of some sort, made of tattered cloth. Smaller bags crowned the tops of the pikes. “What is this?”
“Step closer,” Alfred told him. “You will see.” His eyes were dull, muted gray.
Arthur cast the demon a confused glance before doing as was suggested. He focused on the pikes and their strange decorations. The large bags almost seemed to be made of clothing, now that he was nearer, and looked as though they were filled with some kind of thick, pale material. He took another step forward, paying no attention to the ground before him, and nearly fell forward into the grass as the toe of his boot caught on something below him. He crouched down to examine the object. It was long and pale, much like the material in the bags, but the far end was partially buried in dirt and grass. He looked back at Alfred again, who had not moved from his position at the very edge of the clearing. The demon man only nodded his head. Slowly, very slowly, Arthur slid his fingers along the object, his hands trembling at the familiar smoothness, until they reached the mess that shielded its far end. He closed his eyes as he brushed the dirt away, and drew in a shaking breath before opening his lids again.
It was an arm, ending in the small palm and slender fingers of a woman. A marriage band, tarnished now by the grass in which it lay, decorated one of its fingers. Arthur fell back in shock, barely able to catch himself on his own hands before his head collided with the ground. His gaze, wide with the fear of what he now knew he was going to see, moved along the ground to the base of the nearest pike and climbed up towards the bag that hung upon it. But it was no bag, not at all, and Arthur choked on nothing, gasping, as his eyes met a disfigured human body, limbs torn asunder and likely scattered on the grass around him, though he did not look. The tattered cloth was dirty now, but it must once have been a dress, something beautiful to cover the body of the woman who hung upon the pike. Her head sat atop it, eyes rolled back and rotting, mouth open and tongue hanging out into the air. Long blonde hair was now a tangled mess surrounding the tip of the pike where it emerged from her skull.
Arthur crawled backwards, unable to push himself back onto his feet, or to look away from the gruesome spectacle of the woman’s broken body. His hand came into contact with something smooth and cold, his fingers brushing across what felt like toes, and he pulled away as though he had been burned. His breath caught in his throat again, choking him as he struggled away.
“Arthur.” A gloved hand seized his upper arm, and he was lifted to his feet with the ease of inhuman strength. He tore his eyes away from the bloody monument before him, staring up into Alfred’s face, Alfred whose brows were furrowed, whose lips were forming more words that Arthur could not bring himself to comprehend. Try as he did to keep them from straying back, Arthur found himself once again looking into the center of the clearing, this time seeing the mound that lay in the midst of the pikes, the pile of festering bodies. He choked again and pulled himself away from Alfred and collapsed to his knees. He wretched once, twice, and vomited onto the ground in front of him.
Alfred’s hand grasped his arm again, lifting him up, but his knees would not hold him and he sagged, limp, in the demon’s hold. The stench of decay, that sickly sweet perfume, overwhelmed his senses. He nearly vomited again when Alfred released him. Lying on the ground, eyes wide but blank as they stared straight up at the sky above him, Arthur only faintly realized that Alfred was winding his arm around him, cradling him to a broad, solid chest. There were clouds in the sky now, and they moved as Alfred did, before vanishing behind the covering of tree branches. The smell was fading. Arthur closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, he found himself curled up on a bed of soft moss. He could hear the merry sound of water splashing over rocks, tempting him to go and wash out the horrid taste within his mouth, yet he did not move at first, merely lay there and thought back to what he had seen. The very image caused his stomach to churn. When he blinked, it flashed before him again, and he forced himself up into a seated position.
“You’re awake.” Arthur glanced over to see Alfred standing beside the trunk of a tree. The forest’s edge broke only mere feet from the banks of the stream. Alfred did not meet his eyes, instead staring out at the water.
“Why did you show that to me?”
“I did not realize it would have such a strong affect on you.” Alfred’s gaze flickered over to Arthur for an instant before glancing away again. “I should not have done so.”
Arthur slowly lifted himself onto his feet. “That is not what I asked. Why did you show that to me?”
“You said you no longer know what to believe. I thought it would help you decide.”
“Are you saying…” Arthur sighed. He too looked away, following Alfred’s gaze to the stream. It was small, more of a trickle than a current, and gleamed beneath the afternoon sun. “The Church committed those horrors?” The words were not truly a question, for the answer was obvious.
He did not hear Alfred move, as he never did, but when he looked back again the demon man was standing by his side. “Not in the way that you are thinking. The priests were not fully responsible. They did not kill those people, not directly.”
“Then who did?”
“Their willing audience. Those fanatics in Dartwell, who think only to please the Church.” Alfred’s teeth flashed in the sunlight as he bared them, disgust written clearly across his features. “The priests taught them that unbelievers, heathens, were lower than those who praised their god. The people of Dartwell took those words to heart.”
“But the Church never advocated for such senseless murder. We- It asks for peaceful solutions, not gruesome displays.”
“Perhaps.” A small fish leaped out of the water and fell back with faint splash. Both men stared at the place where it had disappeared. “Do you think the Church punished them, the murderers?”
Arthur did not hesitate. He shook his head. “No.”
Alfred let out a grunt of agreement. “I was there. They did not see me, but I watched as those people welcomed acolytes of the highest rank, dressed in brown instead of white, and I watched as they showed off their dead with pride, and I watched as they were rewarded.”
“It is truly a horrible, disgusting thing,” Arthur agreed, his voice quiet, drawing his arms in close around himself. The memory of that woman’s dismantled figure sent a tremor rolling through his body. To think, that just days earlier he had been a part of that order. “I… I find it hard to believe that people can act in such an inhuman manner.”
“Inhuman?”
Arthur turned to meet a sharp blue stare. “Inhuman,” he repeated. “To revel in such displays of violence, to take pride in cruelty… I would never have thought human beings were capable of being so-”
“Monstrous,” Alfred suggested.
There was silence for a moment, before Arthur nodded. “Monstrous.” He shivered again. “Leaving those bodies there, the remains of those poor people, in such a monument to their murder, is a mockery of their lives. It’s an injustice. They should have been buried, laid to rest, at the very least. I cannot believe…” He trailed off, unable to find the words to convey the true depth of his emotions.
They set up camp there for the night, for the sun was beginning to slide low in its arc towards the far distant Eirann Sea, and they would not be able to travel much farther before darkness cloaked their path. Arthur’s stomach was beginning to settle from the turmoil Dartwell’s dead had caused. It growled with hunger as he bent to gather another armful of branches for their fire. He cast a look back at Alfred, who still had not moved from his crouch at the edge of the stream bank. His eyes were focused intently on the water, not straying even when fish leaped out in their quest to move up the current. Arthur continued to watch him as he moved back towards the small fire and set his load of wood down a safe distance away. Alfred did not seem to have any intention of moving, so Arthur settled himself carefully on the ground, allowing his feet to be warmed by the crackling flames.
Without warning, Alfred stood, shoulders strong and face set with some unknown decision. “There is something I have to do,” he said.
“What?” Arthur rose to his feet as well. “Are you going hunting for supper?”
Alfred shook his head. “Not tonight.”
“Then, where are you going? I’ll come as well.”
“No, stay here.”
Arthur scowled. “Why? What are you going to do?”
“Something important.” Alfred hesitated a moment, before reaching beneath the leather of his jacket to pull out his hunting knife. He laid it on the ground by his feet. “To keep you safe while I’m gone,” he said simply, catching Arthur’s questioning gaze. “I will not be far. Scream if you are in any mortal danger.” Before Arthur could demand a more meaningful answer, or even begin to plan to stop him, Alfred vanished into the darkening woods. Arthur stood there a moment longer, staring after him, then let out an angry sigh and moved over to where the knife lay upon the mossy ground. As he knelt to gather it into his hands, his stomach growled again.
By the time Alfred returned, silent as always, the sun had completed its pathway across the sky, and night had fallen over the land. Arthur looked up from where he sat before the fire, but did not rise. His lips turned downwards in a frown. “So, you are finished with whatever you absolutely had to do? How lovely. I caught fish with your knife, which was far too difficult to attempt ever again, let me assure you, and though I was not certain what you were doing, for some reason I decided to catch one for you as well. I have no idea why- for all I know, you could have been out feasting on flesh in the moonlight or whatever nonsense you demons do, but there it is.” He gestured at the slender fish that roasted upon a stick over the flickering flames.
Alfred stood still, eyes wide. His lips parted slightly, then closed again, and twitched upwards at the corners. He strode forward into the light and sat by the side of the fire, across from Arthur. “It looks somewhat charred,” he said as he reached into the flames, heedless of their heat.
“It would not have been had you returned earlier. I-” The words that Arthur had been preparing to speak fell silent as his eyes took in the sight of Alfred’s arm, and he drew in a startled gasp. “Is that blood?”
“What?” Alfred followed Arthur’s gaze to where the sleeve of his coat met the edge of his glove. Dark liquid stained the creases of both, dripping down onto the ground beneath him. He turned his face away. “It is nothing.”
‘Take off your glove,” Arthur demanded.
“No.”
“Alfred, take off your glove.” Arthur lifted himself to his feet, moving around the fire until he stood beside Alfred. The demon man glared up at him, eyes almost black in the light, and clutched his arm to his chest. The movement reminded Arthur of a petulant child. “Remove your glove this instant, Alfred!”
“You cannot tell me what to do,” Alfred growled, turning further away. Arthur followed, and grasped the very tip of the glove’s middle finger before pulling it harshly off of Alfred’s hand. The demon hissed in pain, trying once again to shield himself within the comforting cloak of the darkness, but Arthur had seen enough. Thick blood ran freely across the scarred expanse of Alfred’s hand, staining his skin deep red.
“Did you encounter something in the woods?” When Alfred did not reply, Arthur lifted the glove he still held and shook it before the demon’s face. “You are bleeding. If you refuse to tell me what happened, you must at least clean your wounds! They will become infected.”
“It does not matter. I’ll heal.”
Arthur gritted his teeth, shoulders hunching as he struggled to contain his anger. He did not know why such a foolish thing caused such a reaction within him, but he could not seem to stop. He cast Alfred’s glove to the ground. “Very well, bleed to death for all I care.” He said nothing else, turning and storming back to the opposite side of the fire. Alfred did not lift the glove, merely continued to clutch his hand to his chest and stare into the dark. The fish sizzled within the fire. It was slowly burning to an inedible husk. Neither moved to stop it. The silence drew out, and with it ebbed Arthur’s anger. The chill of the night seemed to settle deep into his bones. He moved closer to the fire and sighed. “Alfred, where did you go?”
“Back,” said Alfred, without looking up.
“Back where?” Alfred said nothing, and Arthur tried again. “To Dartwell?” Alfred nodded, slow but certain. “Why?”
As though a heavy weight held his head down, Alfred ever so slowly lifted his gaze to meet Arthur’s eyes over the flames. The black had faded. Alfred’s eyes were as pale as moonlight, as sad and distant as the stars, and Arthur could not find any words to speak. The sounds of the night around them seemed to fade. “I buried them,” Alfred said.
Arthur said nothing. There was nothing he could say. Instead, he made his way over to the stream, and stared down into its moonlit waters. He turned, his eyes connecting with Alfred. He held out his hand. Alfred did not move for a moment, stared with those sad eyes. Arthur’s hand did not waver. The firelight flickered as Alfred stood and moved forward. He knelt upon the stream bank, and Arthur knelt with him, and together they removed Alfred’s other glove and dipped his hands into the cool water. Gently, ever so gently, they washed the blood away.