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Everything had happened so fast.
Gold, steel, silent sobs and red - so much red. Everything mixed together into messed up memories that swirled inside of Arthur's head.
He tried again and again to grasp a clear image, something that was not blurry or full of blinding colours. But every time the prince failed. And deep inside him he knew that it probably was for the best.
In spite of the images being a big mess, the sounds from that awful night were clear and happily playing on repeat inside the head of Arthur Pendragon - taunting him.
The sound of an old and foreign language spoken and a person falling to the ground. The sound of a sword taken out from its sheath, a gasp of surprise and a quiet cry of pain.
And that was when the red colour appeared. The red colour that was everywhere. The red colour that flashed inside Arthur's eyelids every time he blinked.
Arthur could hear his own voice muttering apologies, voice thick with guilt and sadness.
But the worst sound was the response.
The sound of a voice that was so soft, and held no trace of betrayal or pain.
The sound of his voice.
It had always sounded so full of love - even in his last moments.
Like he wasn't dying in the arms of a man that wasn't worthy being called a friend.
And it scared Arthur.
It scared him.
Everything scared him.
It scared him how his first response had been to draw the sword.
It scared him how much he had acted like his father.
It scared him how his friend seemed to have expected it.
It scared him how his voice was fading more and more from the prince's memory every day.
Arthur was sinking.
Like a memorial boat on fire, with a person on board that wasn't breathing anymore.
But Arthur was breathing - and maybe that was the problem.
The prince was a shell of himself, haunted by the grief of the loss of a dear friend.
Some people may have noticed his change, but nobody cared.
They were just as angry and hurt as himself, they were angry at him - and the prince couldn't bring himself to think ill of them. He was angry at himself too. So who could blame him for the sentence that had repeated inside his head since that terrible night?
Why are you even trying anymore?
It had been months of the voice of a stranger whispering this inside Arthur's brain. And finally he had made a choice.
That night all the voices in his brain completely stopped. The prince had finally decided, and his thoughts were satisfied.
It was easier than Arthur had expected. It was so easy to take the knife and cut deep into his wrists.
And as his royal blood poured onto the bed sheets, the prince thought he could hear his voice scolding him and telling him how big of an idiot he was.
For the first time in weeks, Arthur fell asleep without tears staining his cheeks, a small smile visible on his face.
He never woke up.