They’re all here.
Tristan, Lance, Kay, Geraint, Seth, Dagger, Gawain, Dustan, Niko, Percivale, Bors, and even Arthur, like the hands on the clock staring at me, but this time, no accusing gaze greets me. This time, I’m met with sad eyes, and old friends waiting for me to enter the room entirely.
“Come here, Gareth,” Arthur says softly, extending an arm toward me.
I shift from one foot to the other and cut my eyes from him toward Tristan. “You didn’t have to babysit me. I figured it out and it’ll get done.”
Arthur gives me a sad smile, and when I see Lance use his knuckle to wipe a tear away from the corner of his eye, I feel even more confused than I did when I first walked into the room.
“Who do you think the mark is this time?” Arthur asks me gently as he comes over and rests a hand on my shoulder.
“Tristan,” I reply shrugging out of his grasp. “And I’ll get this done, but no more. After this, I’m out.”
“It’s not Tristan, man,” Lance says quietly. I look over at him with raised eyebrows and then back to Arthur.
“You’re not doing well, Gareth. I’ve been watching you for a while now and ever since Bentlee died last year, you’ve been on a downward spiral.’
What?
I take a step away from him, angry, hurt, and biting my lower lip to keep the tears from spilling over.
“Bentlee’s not dead,” I finally manage to say through grit teeth.
Lance walks over to me and puts a hand on my shoulder. When I attempt to shrug away from him, he refuses to let go and forces me to look him in the eye.
“Bent’s gone, Gareth. She died the night before you killed the priest. Remember?”
My head feels heavy.
Like all of the memories I’ve been suppressing are threatening to crush my skull in.
“She’s not dead!” I shout at him. “I’ve been with her the past couple of days! Why are you doing this to me?”
“Um. She hasn’t. It’s why I came to see you,” Tristan says, shooting a nervous glance toward Arthur. “I was worried about you. I heard you talking to yourself in your room and that’s when I left. I didn’t know what else to do, so I called Lance.”
“And I called Arthur,” Lance pipes in. “He agreed to call a momentary truce so we could all come here and check on you as a brotherhood, but Gareth … There’s nothing we can do to help you if you won’t help yourself.”
And that’s when it hits me.
Everything I’ve been denying for the past week,hits me so fucking hard that I stagger on my feet and almost fall down.
Bentlee is dead.
Arthur set the mark on the priest because I begged him for recompance convinced that the bastard had her killed. She had run to him for help and he sent her back to her piece of shit father. She couldn’t take it after only a day and ended up hanging herself.
Death by association was enough for me to want his blood.
He gave me that to help me and it failed.
“I can’t watch this,” Lance suddenly says, a sob escaping from him. He steps forward hugs me tightly and tells me that he loves me before he leaves the room.
“Watch what?” I ask Arthur.
“You’re the mark this time. I’m sorry, but there’s no other way and no one else would take this assignment. It’s time, Gareth. I’ll miss you so fucking much, but you need to be at peace and that will only come to you when you’re with Bentlee again.”
I look down at my gloves.
The blood stains of so many dead men that have fallen to my hands coat the metal and I chuckle as a tear slides down my cheek.