I Hold with Those Who Favor Fire

It was quiet outside on the castle walls. With the cold still clinging to Auster, nobody wanted to be outside more than they had to. Except for Artorias, who sat alone staring out across the western sea. He barely felt the cold through the numbness in his heart. He had washed his paws, face, and neck of Sirius' blood, but even though his fur was now clean he could still feel their trusted family friend's blood sticking to him, hot and thick, the scent of it hanging in his nose like a grim reminder. He stared with empty eyes out over the roiling gray waters, listening to the distant washing of waves on the shore. He loved the ocean; he'd always gone to it when he needed to think or to calm down his nerves. But this time, it didn't seem to be working. He was too afraid—afraid of himself, of what he was capable of, of what he had done.

Vivid flashbacks of the fight danced before his eyes like a horror show. Sirius' booming voice echoed in his skull. He could still feel the cold weight of the knife in his jaws, could feel the pressure every time he pushed it into Seer's flesh. The scariest part was that he could recall the memories clear as day, but in that moment, Art had felt no control. His body had been running on automatic, using the deadly skills he'd learned and honed to do as much damage as quickly as he could without any cognitive input from him. The rage had guided his strikes, and they had very nearly been fatal. Artorias had never lost control like that before and it terrified him.

It had been several hours since the fight, and the healers of the Hallows had all tended to the injured Warlord. Words like "grievous" and "critical" had been tossed around while they worked on him. Art had wanted to stay, to make sure Seer was all right, but he had been ushered out of the room—just like when he'd tried to see Resin. The frustration returned, the feeling of uselessness. He just wanted to help and be a part of the pack, dammit! He hated being dismissed because of his age! By now, he reasoned the healers must have either gotten Sirius in stable condition or lost him. Either way, he needed to go see the Warlord, to make sure he hadn't made a grave mistake.

Artorias turned from the ocean view and made his way back into the castle, wandering the warm, silent corridors he had come to know so well until he found his way to the infirmary. It was noticeably quiet here now; his assumptions about the healers must have been right. A knot formed in the boy's throat and, after swallowing it back and gathering his courage, he stepped through the partially open door. The old hinges creaked a little as they opened, and he spotted Tamsyn sitting beside the bed Sirius lay in. She didn't seem distraught which boded well for their patient's condition. "Is he awake...?" he called over to his mother, trying to keep his volume low so as not to disturb Seer if he was resting. Even before waiting for her answer, Art was already crossing over to the them, his steps slow and measured, cautious and nervous. He was no longer angry or out of control, but cold guilt had since replaced the fire and he didn't know how to deal with it.


"Artorias" | Thoughts | "Corbin"