❝ when she looks into his eyes, she feels the gripping temptation to tell him all her darkest secrets; the names of the men she has killed, but she learned a long time ago that the only people who can keep secrets are resting in overgrown graveyards...
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Calliope can't stop blaming herself.
If she had gone with them on the hunt, maybe Arthur wouldn't be dying right now. She can't accept the fact that he may leave this world with their last conversation being the painful words from one month ago. They never made things right—she never even tried to mend things. She thought he just needed time, but now, they're all out of time. Merlin said he could find a cure and left Camelot without much explanation, but Calliope knows it's a long shot.
She hasn't seen him yet. For a while, the King wouldn't let anyone in the room as he grieved and prayed for Arthur's recovery. When he finally left, Gaius went in to see if there was anything he could do. It's been hours, and the physician has not come out. Now, Calliope stands outside his chamber, trying to muster up the courage to go inside. With a deep breath, she finally pushes the door open, and she holds herself together, even as she sees him lying in his bed with a large white bandage covering his left shoulder and a cold rag on his head to keep his fever down. His eyes are closed and his chest rises and falls slowly. Gaius sits in a chair beside the bed, his head back and his mouth agape as he snores.
Gently, she brushes his shoulder to wake him. Gaius is startled at first, but he stands from his chair when he sees Calliope.
She motions to the door with her arm, "You should go get some rest."
"He must not be left alone."
"I'll look after him," she answers urging him to go back to his room and rest somewhere more comfortable.
Nodding, Gaius exits the room and closes the door quietly behind him. Calliope lets out a small breath as she reaches over Arthur and grabs the cloth. Walking over to the table, she rings it through the cold water a few times before returning to the prince's side and dabbing his face lightly. It's difficult to keep her heart from breaking as she examines his features, swallowing to keep tears from welling in her blue eyes. Calliope folds the cloth and places it on his head, grabbing the chair and scooting it closer to the bed.
She sits, taking his burning hand in her own. If he was awake, would he jerk away from her touch? She doesn't let herself linger on the thought. She just squeezes his hand, hoping a small part of him is aware of her presence—that she is here and hasn't given up on him, and that she never will, until his last breath.
Because he didn't give up on her. When her soul was in the dagger, he is the one who brought her back to the light.
Calliope inhales sharply before speaking, not caring that he may never hear her words, "I know you may hate me right now," she starts, her eyes on the floor, "and if you were awake, you would probably tell me to get out, but I don't care. You know I never listen to you anyway," her eyes glance up, and her chest tightens as she continues. "You're not going to die because you're a fighter and because Camelot needs you and," her breath hitches, her eyes burning. Her next words come out as barely a whisper, "and I need you."
