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Fantasy Aedighar [closed]

At her question, Elias shook his head. Antra didn’t want to force him to talk to her if he didn’t want to. They weren’t really that close after all, and she knew that it was hard for men to really open up. Antra wanted to help, but she could only do that if Elias would let her. Right now, that didn’t really seem the case as he tried to make himself appear alright.

However, that changed when tears started running down Elias’ cheeks. Antra almost gasped at the sight, shocked at just how strange it looked. It seemed so surreal, so wrong that it was almost hard for her to understand that he was truly crying. The sight almost made Antra herself tear up. She was so embarrassingly emotional, but Antra held herself together for Elias. How could she help if she was crying as well?

As Antra thought that, Elias sat down on his bed and covered his face with his hands. Antra heard a quiet sob and her heart broke at that. She didn’t even truly know this man, she barely knew anything about him personally and yet her heart ached for whatever Elias was going through. It didn’t frighten Antra, not really. Perhaps it should’ve, but she just wrote it off as her always caring too much about others.

The feelings inside of her almost forbid her to move. Antra had comforted enough people, but suddenly she was at a loss because she didn’t know Elias that well. How could she comfort him? Would a hug be enough or should they talk about it? Antra couldn’t help but wonder about that, and just how to approach this situation so that Elias wouldn’t feel embarrassed or more hurt.

While Antra stood there, Elias’ hands went into his hair as he seemed to tug on it. Antra couldn’t stand still anymore and she sighed Elias’ name before quickly making her way over to him. She wasn’t sure whether to sit down on the bed or not, and Antra ended up kneeling down in front of him.

It didn’t really feel awkward when Antra wrapped her arms around him. There wasn’t anything uncomfortable when they hugged, and Antra was almost surprised at that. She thought something inside of her would tell her that this was highly inappropriate, but that wasn’t the case. Her heart just kept telling her that Elias was upset and that she needed to help. He needed someone to be there for him, and Antra had a feeling that she was the only one who could do that.

Antra’s hand gently stroked his back as she tried to calm him down. She felt his head rest against her shoulder and she heard another sob fall from him. Antra didn’t even really notice his hands against her back, because all of her focus was on him now. She closed her eyes, as her fingers gently moved against his spine while Antra tried to think of what to say.

Suddenly, Elias pulled away from her again, “I’m sorry.”

"What are you apologising for? What's wrong, Elias? Talk to me."

The man was avoiding her gaze and Antra knew that wasn’t good. If he wouldn’t look at her, they wouldn’t get anywhere. Elias needed to see that she was there for him, and that she cared.

Carefully, Antra reached up and touched his cheek and just like she thought his gaze lifted to meet hers. Her thumb gently stroked his cheekbone as she looked up at Elias. If someone were to walk in, it’d look rather strange Antra was sure of it, but there was nothing wrong about it. Antra was just taking care of Elias, nothing more.

“My friend isn’t doing so well. I think he might not survive.”

Saying that, Elias leant his head against her hand and closed his eyes. He raised his hand and placed it on top of hers gently. Antra thought about what Elias said, and she wondered what had happened. She wouldn’t ask unless Elias would be alright with telling him, though.

"I'm so sorry, Elias."

“I will lose him, and I can’t even be there for him. He might already be dead.”

Gods, it must’ve been terrible for Elias. He was here, doing his duties and somewhere his friend was dying and there was nothing he could do about it. As he said, he couldn’t even be there for him, nor did he know if he was still alive. Antra’s heart ached and she pulled him into another hug, this time moving her hand into his hair, stroking it gently.

“Elias, you don’t know that. Perhaps not all is as bad as it seems,” Antra whispered, slightly rocking them both to the left and right, “and if it is… just remember him. It’s hard to lose someone close, but in a way they live on in your memories of them.”

It made her think of father, and mother, and Rhea… Gods, they had all been taken away from her, and yet Antra refused to let them go. She still remembered everything about them so clearly, and Gods she hoped she’d never forget. Antra hoped the memories with them would last a lifetime, if they wouldn’t then it’d be almost as though they’d died a second time.

"I don't know what I will do if I lose him. He's my best friend. He has been my best friend for so long."

Elias was holding onto her so tightly, that Antra almost felt as though he was suffocating her. She didn’t really mind though, and she’d endure the momentarily uncomfortableness for him. It would be worth it if Antra knew that she’d eased his mind even a little bit.

“I know it’s hard, Elias… I’m so sorry you have to go through this,” Antra whispered, closing her eyes again, “losing someone like that never really gets easier. You just kind of… well, you learn to live with it.”
 
There had to be a way to make him feel better. Antra’s embrace made him feel more at ease. At least he wasn’t alone, but Elias still felt like a part of him was missing as he sat there at the edge of the bed. Arthor was missing. It had been tough enough to leave him behind in Santrella, but it was something completely else that Arthor was dead or dying. It was such a weird thought to attempt to wrap his head around. No matter how much he tried to understand what was truly happening around him, none of it made sense.

It wasn’t right that Arthor would die. That man had done nothing wrong to deserve that kind of punishment from the Gods, and Elias prayed that they would see that and give him the strength that he needed to survive. It was fair, and Elias wanted to see Arthor more than anything as soon as he came back to Santrella.

Elias was almost craving the feeling of Arthor’s presence as he sat there with Antra in front of him. It felt like it was rude of him to wish that it was Arthor instead of Antra, but Elias appreciated everything Antra was doing for him. He didn’t want to send her away and tell her not to worry anymore. If anything he needed her. They hadn’t known each other for long, but Elias knew she was a kind Lady.

When he had been too afraid to stand up for himself, Antra had been there, and now that he was too devastated to even think clearly, she was there with him. It felt like he didn’t deserve that kind of treatment from her, but he was glad that she was there though. It made it feel a little easier, and he didn’t even feel too uncomfortable letting out his emotions to her, almost like he already trusted her.

Elias didn’t know why that was so, but there was just something about her presence that made him feel safe and accepted. Like nothing could come to hurt him now, and he was so thankful for that kindness that even that made him feel overwhelmed by the situation.

There was another sigh from his lips as Antra pulled him into a hug again. Her arms around him felt so soothing, and Elias again felt like he didn’t want to let her go no matter how inappropriate it might have looked.

“Elias, you don’t know that. Perhaps not all is as bad as it seems, and if it is… just remember him. It’s hard to lose someone close, but in a way they live on in your memories of them.”

"I don't know what I will do if I lose him. He's my best friend. He has been my best friend for so long."

The grip he had around Antra tightened then as he tried to get the most out of the hug they shared. Elias didn’t even realize how tight his embrace was, that he might have been hurting her. All he could think about was how comforting it was for him to have her there, how cared about he felt. It was strange to feel such a way when they barely knew each other. Even stranger that he was even telling her the things that were wrong.

“I know it’s hard, Elias… I’m so sorry you have to go through this,” Antra whispered, “losing someone like that never really gets easier. You just kind of… well, you learn to live with it.”

Her words weren’t really a surprise to him. Antra was just telling the truth, and it was somewhat nice to feel that she understood his situation. At the same time, it was difficult to find comfort in her words alone. Elias wasn’t sure how he would deal with losing Arthor. He didn’t know how he would learn to live with it as he had never gone through such a thing before.

Of course he had seen death up close, but losing his best friend was something he had never experienced, and it wasn’t exactly pleasant.

“Thank you, but I don’t know how I will live with this. It is my fault.”

"How is it your fault?"

“That is a long story,” Elias mumbled. Antra was still stroking his hair which felt good while he wondered if he should tell her about how everything was his own fault.

"I have time."

Like expected, Antra would have time for that. Elias already knew that she had nearly nothing to do at camp compared to himself. Still he sat there quietly as Antra pulled away from the hug. How would he even explain it to her? There were a few parts he would have to not mention as he wasn’t sure how Antra would react if she got to know about the things Elias had done with Arthor in the library. It was inappropriate.

Perhaps it would calm him down a little to talk about Arthor and their memories while trying to explain to her why he felt as if it was his fault that his friend was dying.

“Okay,” Elias said with a slight nod as Antra moved to sit on the bed with him.

“After Timos Hastwyck’s death in Wheldrake, I started to wonder if his death was truly more than just Timos getting ill and dying from it. I thought that maybe there was something else behind it that no one knew about or could see. Soon enough I wondered if he had been murdered. I knew I couldn’t speculate about it openly, but one friend of mine decided to be there for me and help me.”

In the beginning it had been such a good memory of the time they had spent together, and they were still nice to think about, but now Elias just remembered how stupid it had been of him to speculate about such things. He should have left it alone, never even picked up the first book he had decided to read.

“Together we found enough evidence to blame the King for the murder of Timos. We spent so many nights in that library. Reading so many books. He was there all along by my side, never once doubting me. I’m so lucky to have him, but I should have known better than to present the case for Lady Hastwyck. I should have known better,” Elias paused as he looked up at the roof of his tent, “it is my fault that they’re now in Wheldrake facing the consequences of my speculations. If I had just stopped or never even thought of it, he would be alive and well now. Gods, I am foolish.”
 
“Thank you, but I don’t know how I will live with this. It is my fault.”

Immediately Antra wanted to shoot him down and tell him that of course that wasn’t the case. Elias might feel that way now, but Antra hoped that he wouldn’t blame himself for the rest of his life. Antra knew that Brynden still blamed himself for everything that had happened over the last few months. Hopefully, Elias would be better at coping than he was.

"How is it your fault?"

“That is a long story,” Elias mumbled.

"I have time,” she said back, pulling away slightly from the hug to look at him.

Of course Antra always had time. Even if she didn’t, she would make time for this. Antra had already left the dinner with Brynden early because she was worried about Elias. However long this story was, Antra would listen carefully and try to help him. She was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to, but perhaps she’d at least make him feel a little bit better.

When Elias nodded, Antra took it as a sign that he was about to begin. She raised from the floor in front of him and sat down on the bed instead. Her knees ached from the position she’d been in, but Antra ignored it as she turned to watch Elias when he began speaking.

“After Timos Hastwyck’s death in Wheldrake, I started to wonder if his death was truly more than just Timos getting ill and dying from it. I thought that maybe there was something else behind it that no one knew about or could see. Soon enough I wondered if he had been murdered. I knew I couldn’t speculate about it openly, but one friend of mine decided to be there for me and help me.”

Obviously everyone knew about Timos Hastwyck’s death by this point. Antra had been shocked to hear the news, but they had been overshadowed by her grief for her parents at that point. Now she could see just how horrible it was. A boy killed on his own wedding day. It ached her heart just to think about it. That was a day of joy and love and it had been ruined.

“Together we found enough evidence to blame the King for the murder of Timos. We spent so many nights in that library. Reading so many books. He was there all along by my side, never once doubting me. I’m so lucky to have him, but I should have known better than to present the case for Lady Hastwyck. I should have known better. It is my fault that they’re now in Wheldrake facing the consequences of my speculations. If I had just stopped or never even thought of it, he would be alive and well now. Gods, I am foolish.”

Carefully Antra listened to every one of his words. It was strange to think about Timos’ death as something suspicious, as she hadn’t been there and she’d heard only a vague story about it. As far as Antra knew, Aedighar still believed that it had just been an accident. Because she didn’t know anything about what had happened, Antra didn’t really have an opinion herself, she easily found herself believing Elias and his words.

That friend of his must’ve been great. Antra thought it was wonderful that he had stayed with Elias and helped him through this, even though he likely didn’t really have a reason to do that. They must’ve been very close. Which must mean that his death would hurt Elias greatly.

“What’s going on in Wheldrake? What happened to him?”

"I don't know what happened to him. There was a trial by combat, and now he's not doing so well. I'm assuming he won't live."

A trial by combat. Now that she thought about it, Antra vaguely remembered Brynden mentioning something about events going on in Wheldrake. Antra thought those things were awfully unfair for everyone involved. A trial, someone’s guilt or freedom should be decided with words, not swords. Antra wasn’t sure why it was still allowed to happen, to her it seemed awfully foolish. But that wasn’t what she was here for, and Antra didn’t really care about the political aspect of the story.

None of this made Antra think that it was Elias’ fault it had come to this. She didn’t understand how Elias could blame himself for this. Though Elias’ actions had lead the Hastwycks to Wheldrake, what had happened further wasn’t his fault nor should he blame himself for it.

“Elias,” Antra sighed as she reached out to take his hand, “it’s not your fault. You did a good thing, you helped understand what truly happened to Timos Hastwyck. Yes your plans lead them to Wheldrake, but what happened there is not your fault. I’m sure nobody there blames you for this.”

"How is it not my fault? I should have been there for him."

Antra felt him squeeze her hand, and she sighed. She moved her other hand to his back again as she leant forwards a little so that she could see his face. “Elias, you couldn’t have possibly known that this would happen. It’s not your fault.”

"I just hope he's not gone."

Elias leant against her then and Antra wrapped her arm around his shoulders. Although she didn’t know the man, he was Elias’ friend and that meant that Antra hoped that he would pull through. If Elias liked him, then Antra would as well and she’d pray and hope that he would survive this. She didn’t want Elias to hurt like this, he didn’t deserve that.

“Do you want to talk about him?”

 
“What’s going on in Wheldrake? What happened to him?”

If Elias knew exactly what had happened to Arthor, he would have told Antra. All he knew was that there had been a trial by combat and that Arthor wasn’t doing well. There was no more information about his friends that could give Elias any sort of closure. He would have preferred it if he had gotten to know if Arthor was dead or alive, instead of being left hanging to assume that the worst had happened to him.

Perhaps the absolute worst had happened to him, but Elias also understood that maybe it was difficult for Lady Carlys to inform him on the matter. At least they had remembered him. He was grateful for that.

"I don't know what happened to him. There was a trial by combat, and now he's not doing so well. I'm assuming he won't live."

It was the worst case scenario in Elias’ mind was that Arthor had already died from the time it would take the raven to fly from Wheldrake to where he was. Now he was expecting to get another letter soon that would inform him that his speculations about the matter had been right, that Arthor was truly dead. Elias would struggle with waking up every morning now, afraid that there would be other news waiting for him.

Though Elias wanted his thoughts on the matter to be confirmed or denied, he worried that it would just ruin him more if he got a letter confirming Arthor’s death. No matter how much he wanted to know, perhaps it was better if he didn’t know. Still he wouldn’t get over it.

Antra reached out to take his hand then, and Elias squeezed her hand gently. Was it wrong of him to feel such comfort from her embrace? It was, but there was something so gentle and innocent about her touch that made it feel right. There was nothing bad about it. Nothing that made him think of her inappropriately. Elias still respected Antra, and he would always respect her as she was a Lady who deserved that.

“Elias, it’s not your fault. You did a good thing, you helped understand what truly happened to Timos Hastwyck. Yes your plans lead them to Wheldrake, but what happened there is not your fault. I’m sure nobody there blames you for this.”

Elias wanted to believe her that it wasn’t his fault, but he couldn’t help but to feel guilty for what had happened to Arthor when in reality he could have done nothing to stop it. Even if he had been there, they would have demanded a trial by combat, and he couldn’t have stopped that.

"How is it not my fault? I should have been there for him."

“Elias, you couldn’t have possibly known that this would happen. It’s not your fault.”

They leaned towards each other. Antra had her hand against his back, and Elias couldn’t keep himself away from her then. Having her close was made him feel more at ease even if her words were hardly making a difference. He knew she meant well and that she was trying to help, which at least gave him some sort of comfort, but he had no idea how he could believe her.

Later he would be able to talk about it and listen to her words, but now that the sadness was eating him up he felt like her words weren’t helping him at all.

"I just hope he's not gone."

“Do you want to talk about him?”

Elias wouldn’t say no to talking about Arthor. There was quite a lot he could talk about considering how long they had known each other, and how much time they had spent together. A sad smile tugged at his lips at the thought of it as he simply nodded to her question.

“His name is Arthor. He’s the most skilled Knight I have ever seen. I could talk about him for so long. We met so long ago, and I was quite shy. I didn’t like fighting, but I used to watch as the Knights practiced with each other. I assume that some of them found that weird, but I was trying to learn what certain tactics looked like. Arthor then came up to me, and I don’t remember too clearly, but after that, we started talking.”

It was nice that Elias still remembered that day, not like he would ever forget it. They had been so young, and Elias had been so reserved until Arthor came along and helped him open up a bit. Though maybe that was the amount of wine they started drinking together, and not Arthor himself.

“I didn’t think we had much in common. I liked to read and found an interest in war, but lacked the skill to fight, while Arthor had all the skill to fight and I’m sure he was not fond of reading. Still we became great friends. Sometimes I wonder what I did to deserve him.”

"How did you two become such close friends? Arthor sounds like a wonderful man, but, from what I've seen, all knights are a bit strange,” Antra said as she moved her hand from his back and up to his hair, "sorry."

“They are strange, no need to be sorry. I don’t understand either, but we sat together at every feast, always enjoying each other’s company. It was nice, and we seemed to have a lot to talk about when we first were around each other. I don’t really know how, but suddenly it just happened. I’m glad it did,” Elias smiled.

Elias leaned his head against her hand, not wanting to admit how soothing it felt having her hand in his hair. He didn’t want her to stop. If he could, he would have been selfish and asked her to stay there with him for as long as she could, but he didn’t want to do that. He couldn’t take advantage of her like that.
 
Maybe it was selfish of her, but Antra found herself feeling better once again because of Elias’ company. It was obvious that he was hurting, but Antra thought that she was comforting him just a little bit and that made her feel nice. If Antra could just sit and talk to people about their problems for the rest of her life, she’d be happy. For some reason, calming people down made Antra feel better.

Since Antra was the youngest of four, it was often that she was the one being comforted. She was a rather emotional child and would cry about many pointless things, and complain about them to her siblings or parents who would end up having to deal with her. Antra was a bit ashamed of how she took everything to heart, but at the same time she was happy that she had such deep emotions about things. Some people lacked them, and Antra pitied them.

While Elias spoke, Antra watched him carefully. In her mind, she was envisioning everything as he told her about how he and the Knight had first met. Antra was sure that she imagined Arthor wrong, and that he didn’t look like that in real life, but that didn’t really matter. Even if he was alive, Antra would never meet him, therefore what did it matter how she thought he looked like.

It was almost cute in a way to imagine Elias being so shy and being saved by a Knight so to say. Antra liked Arthor already, because it sounded like he was a nice man. He had come up to Elias, though nobody forced him to do that. In Antra’s mind, that was admirable and something she would likely do as well.

Apparently, they didn’t have that much in common. Antra didn’t doubt that. Elias was so… different from most men that she knew. Antra only knew a handful of Knights by name, and they were nothing like Elias. She doubted that they’d get along. There was something weird about them in a way, but Antra didn’t really understand what it was so she could never explain it.

"How did you two become such close friends? Arthor sounds like a wonderful man, but, from what I've seen, all knights are a bit strange,” Antra said as she slowly moved her hand from his back to his hair, stroking it gently.

Quickly, Antra realised that what she had said might come off rude. She blushed slightly and looked down, regretting her words, "sorry."

“They are strange, no need to be sorry. I don’t understand either, but we sat together at every feast, always enjoying each other’s company. It was nice, and we seemed to have a lot to talk about when we first were around each other. I don’t really know how, but suddenly it just happened. I’m glad it did,” Elias smiled.

Since Elias didn’t seem to mind her words, then Antra relaxed a little bit again. She thought about Elias and Arthor, and she loved that they had found each other. Everyone deserved at least one good friend, and she was happy that Elias had found his other half, even though it seemed strange to her how two people so seemingly different could become friends.

“Arthor sounds nice,” Antra smiled as her fingers continued playing with Elias’ short hair.

The fact that it was inappropriate in a way didn’t really cross her mind. Antra didn’t even think about it, honestly. She just saw it as her comforting a friend, not much else. Someone walking in might see it as something strange, but Antra’s mind was much too innocent for such things.

“I’m glad you two found each other.”

“I’m glad too. I don’t know what I will do without him if he’s gone.”

Antra sighed and leant her head against his shoulder, “don’t think about that, Elias. If Arthor’s truly gone, I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to lose yourself in grief.”

“I just miss him a lot.”

After Elias said that, Antra felt his arms move around her. It didn’t feel strange or weird, or bad or inappropriate. Antra smiled a little at how nice it felt, how safe and comfortable it made her feel. But she scolded herself for that inside of her mind, because this wasn’t about her, it was about Elias.

“Of course you do. You’re friends, Elias. Perhaps Arthor is doing better now, you just haven’t received the raven yet. You could meet him again one day.”

“Maybe, I hope you’re right.”

Antra hoped so as well. She knew that one day Elias would leave the camp to return to Santrella, and she hoped that he’d have something to come back to. Their friendship sounded wonderful, and Antra hoped that it wouldn’t be lost.

It made her think of her friends back in Nilfgaard, but mostly it made her wonder about Aryana. Antra had wanted to send her a raven, but she wasn’t really sure what to tell her. She had heard that the Faersons were safe, and she hoped that was true. What would Antra do if she’d receive a letter about Aryana’s passing? Though they’d known each other for a much shorter amount of time than Elias and Arthor, Antra still thought that Aryana’s death would hurt her greatly.

“I hope so as well,” Antra whispered, “for now, all you can do is hold on to the memories you have of him. You’ve known each other for years, right? I’m sure you have many stories of him.”

 
They had moved even closer to each other now. Antra had her head resting against his shoulders, while Elias kept his arms around her body to hold her in that position so she wouldn’t pull away. It was such a strange sensation, mostly because it was the last thing he had expected for his evening. There were a few evenings he had spent trying to find her so they could spend some time together, but they had never been so close as they were now. It was just an unusual feeling for Elias.

Back in Santrella, the person he embraced the most was Arthor. That also might have looked strange to other people, but they were good friends, which was also why they had ended up doing the stupid stuff they had done. Elias didn’t want to think about that now. He wasn’t sure if it even mattered anymore. Nothing had really happened that night in the library, and it was more the night from a decade ago that lingered in his mind.

“Of course you do. You’re friends, Elias. Perhaps Arthor is doing better now, you just haven’t received the raven yet. You could meet him again one day.”

“Maybe, I hope you’re right.”

“I hope so as well,” Antra whispered, “for now, all you can do is hold on to the memories you have of him. You’ve known each other for years, right? I’m sure you have many stories of him.”

There was quite a lot of stories that Elias could tell Antra about. All from the boring ones, to the more interesting ones. He liked all of them, and he wouldn’t have a problem with telling her all about the things he and Arthor would do together when they weren’t busy with their duties. There were just certain things he would be careful not to mention. Elias didn’t wish to scare Antra away with some of the things he and Arthor had done.

Still Elias wished to talk about Arthor as it seemed to make him feel a little better though it also made him realize how much he truly missed his friend.

“Do you want to hear some stories? I’m sure some of them are quite boring,” Elias smiled, but there was still some sadness to his expression.

It would take him a long time to get over the devastating feeling of losing his friend. For now, he would try his best to appear calm and collected for Antra, distracting them both by talking about his earlier days with Arthor. Gods, would he ever feel happy again? Just a few seconds of silence was enough to make his mind rush with irrational thoughts. He was lucky to have Antra there to talk with.

"I'd love to hear them."

That was all Elias needed to hear before he started talking. He told Antra more about the first time he had met Arthor, how Elias had been terrible at studying tactics of a knight. Everything Elias thought he had known was wrong, and Arthor had been there to help him understand everything better. It was sweet how they were somehow helping each other. Elias had been so thankful then for the help he had received, and now he wondered if he would have been as good as he was at his job if Arthor hadn’t helped him out.

Elias also told her about the times Arthor had tried to teach him how to fight, and how Elias had failed miserably at that. Most of that day he had been sitting or laying on the ground with dirt all over his clothes and face as he couldn’t seem to stay on his feet while swinging a sword. It had been fun though, and Elias even chuckled when he thought about it.

While he spoke about Arthor, he moved up on the bed, laying down before taking Antra’s hand to pull her down with him. It was purely meant to be innocent as he laid there facing her while talking on and on about all the memories he had shared with his friend. He kept his hands to himself, thinking it would be way too inappropriate for him to embrace her now that they were laying down.

Antra too was keeping her hands to herself. There was a slight distance between them, and to Elias, it seemed like she was laying so far away from him after they had just hugged each other and leaned onto each other. He understood why it was only for the better that they kept an appropriate distance though. He didn’t want anyone to walk in and get the wrong ideas in their head about what was happening, even if the sight of them on the bed would already look wrong.

It was just comforting to have her there, and Elias was selfish for not wanting her to leave, but he also knew she couldn’t sleep there with him. At the same time, he wouldn’t have said no to it.

Elias kept telling Antra about his stories. It felt like they had laid there for an eternity while he just rambled on and on about everything that came to his mind. He felt so safe telling her about Arthor compared to how he had acted when she had asked about his past. Arthor was the only thing he bothered to remember from his past. The rest of it wasn’t important, but perhaps one day he would tell Antra about his family and his earlier life.

It had gotten late, and it took a second for Elias to notice that the girl in front of him was drifting off. He didn’t have the heart to wake her up. Gods, he should have woken her up, but instead, Elias found himself letting her stay there beside him as he stopped talking, letting silence fall between them as he let himself fall asleep as well. Nothing about it was right, especially not when Elias pulled Antra closer to him in his sleep, his arms wrapped around her, holding her so close.
 
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Alive.
Chapter XLIX
House Hastwyck
Sow knowledge, reap wisdom.
Santrella, Southern lands of Aedighar
​
When he first woke, the world was so dizzy, blurry and dark that Arthor didn’t even bother. Everything hurt, everything was sore and he closed his eyes again and fell back into a deep slumber. It was nice that way, then he could dream and forget, and not feel the pain.

But yet again, after what seemed like only seconds he woke once more. This time, he saw the face of Maester Konari, and for a second Arthor was terribly confused. Was he in Santrella? No, no of course not. Maester Konari had went with them to Wheldrake, he remembered now. Too late did he notice the liquid that the Maester was pouring into his mouth, and only when Arthor drifted off to sleep did he realise that it had been milk of the poppy.

The next time Arthor woke up, it was quiet. He saw someone sitting next to his bed out of the corner of his eye, but Gods the pain… he tried to lift up his head, but it felt like it was filled with lead. Arthor moved it maybe an inch off of the pillow before he winced as the world began spinning around him and disappeared once more.

In his dreams, all was well. Arthor dreamt of things he perhaps shouldn’t have. He dreamt of a feast that had ended in sweet unexpected bliss, and a night many years ago that still made no sense to him. It wasn’t always that, though, and sometimes innocence prevailed in his slumber. Sometimes it was just him, and Leanah, and Elias and it was just sweet, not wrong in any way.

Arthor liked those dreams. He liked it so much, that when consciousness surprised him once more, all he wanted to do was pass out again. Stubbornly, Arthor kept his eyes shut and tried to delve into the darkness again. But as he laid there still for moments, the dreams didn’t come and instead the pain showed itself. It made Arthor open his eyes, though his right one stubbornly stayed nearly shut, which obstructed his vision a bit.

It only became worse when Arthor tried to sit up. He was covered in blankets and furs, and he felt as though his whole body was burning. But as he tried to throw the covers away from him, Arthor audibly groaned and his head fell back against the pillows as he closed his eyes from the sharp pain that overtook him.

How had he gotten here? While the pain burnt all across his body, Arthor took deep breaths as his hands gripped onto the furs around him. His mouth had a strange fuzzy feeling, the one he often got when he slept for much too long. Arthor worried to even think about how long he’d been here. What had happened?

Faintly, as though it had been someone else, Arthor remembered. It slowly came back to him. He remembered the face of Sir Rowan, and he remembered the shouts of the crowd. He remembered the gauntlets hitting him across the face over and over again, and he remembered the blood gushing out of Sir Rowan’s leg. Arthor remembered dying.

Was this heaven? It surely hurt a lot fucking more than Arthor had imagined. Maester Konari certainly didn’t fit into his image of heaven either. Or perhaps that had all just been a dream. Arthor wasn’t sure if anything he’d seen while he thought he was awake had been real.

Heaven was fucking horrible, if this was it. Every inch of Arthor ached, he couldn’t even move under his covers. He tried to turn, but the second he moved his left leg Arthor felt blinding pain in his knee and stomach. Perhaps it’d be best for him to just lay still for now. Even moving his head hurt, it caused a throbbing headache, and instead Arthor closed his eyes again.

No, the pain was too real. Arthor could feel it so vividly, that this had to be real. He had to be alive. Did that mean that he’d won? Perhaps Sir Rowan had made it through his injury, what would happen then? Arthor opened his mouth to talk, but his throat felt dry and no sound came out. Not like there was anybody in the room with him. It was so silent…

But then the door opened. It was as though all of his senses were being overwhelmed at once. He wanted to turn his head, but he didn’t, instead Arthor opened his eyes to try and glance over. Gods, he hoped it wasn’t the Maester. If he’d have to smell his foul breath anywhere near him again, Arthor would rather just die all over again. Although the drug that was given to him made the pain bearable, Arthor didn’t quite like it either. He didn’t want the milk, he just wanted water. Maybe wine.

Fast footsteps followed then. Arthor recognised Leanah just from that. Nobody else would care that much. It had to be her.

The suspicions were confirmed, when Arthor saw her above him. He tried to smile at her, but Gods he felt weak… Arthor heard her say his name, and he wanted to say hers back. He wanted to, but nothing came out of his throat.

It felt like the inside of his throat was rough and coarse, and he winced when he tried to speak. Instead, Arthor tried to reach out for her, but even that failed. Just like his head, Arthor’s arm felt so heavy that even lifting his hand felt like a dreadful task. It frustrated him to no end. What was the point of waking up if he couldn’t do anything?
 
It had been difficult to keep track of the days and nights Leanah had spent by Arthor’s side.

Ever since Leanah had entered the room with her mother, she hadn’t been able to leave. Unless she had needed to leave to take care of herself, Leanah had stayed there for countless hours just waiting for some sort of sign that he would wake up soon.

There were times it felt unbearable to watch him so lifeless. It wasn’t something she was used to seeing, and she just wished for him to survive so they could go back to Santrella together.

Leanah had pulled a chair next to the bed, and she spent every night sitting in that chair either leaning against the bed trying to catch some sleep or staring out into nothing while stroking her fingers over the blankets that covered Arthor’s body. Sometimes she let her fingertips trace along his jawline and wherever he wasn’t covered by bandages and plasters.

There were times she would sit there crying, begging him to wake up. Leanah needed him. Whenever she had to leave she would always lean down to press a kiss against his cheek even if it was covered plasters. She felt so sorry for him that he had experienced so much pain. She wanted Arthor to be happy and well. Just thinking about the pain he must have gone through was enough to make her wince as if it pained her as well.

Sleep was something Leanah hadn’t gotten in what felt like forever. She would drift off for a few minutes during the evenings or early mornings, but she never really found time to get some actual sleep in a bed. It wasn’t good for her, but she didn’t want to leave Arthor to be alone. What if he would wake up during the night?

Even if Leanah had left to get some sleep she knew she wouldn’t have been able to fall asleep. There were so many thoughts in her head that would keep her awake all night. It was impossible not to worry about him.

Leanah would try to leave Arthor whenever her mother tried to make her care for herself. It would often just end with her leaving her bedchamber in the middle of the night to go see him. Slowly she was breaking herself down, and it wasn’t good. In the end, even Leanah realized that.

How would she be able to take care of Arthor when she couldn’t even care for herself? It was unhealthy.

Still Leanah spent a lot of her time with Arthor, but as the execution of the Queen came closer, she had started leaving Arthor’s room more often just to make sure she was well fed and looked presentable to whoever she might have met in the hallways. It hadn’t been smart to let her sadness eat her up. She was sure that even she looked like a mess after the first two nights of staying by Arthor’s side.

Now Leanah would only cry once the sun had set while she struggled on whether she would stay for longer or try to sleep. It was tough to see Arthor and not be able to talk to him. Whenever she said something there wouldn’t be any answer for her. It was sort of comforting to let out a few of her thoughts to him even if he couldn’t hear it or reply. All she wanted was to see that beautiful smile on his face again.

Whenever Leanah left Arthor’s room, she dreaded walking back in only to see him unconscious on the bed. Every time the guards opened the door for her she wished that he would be awake and greet her, but it didn’t happen.

It was the day the Queen was to be executed for the murder of Timos when Leanah opened the door and saw Arthor with his eyes open, clearly conscious. There was a mix of emotions rushing through her body at the sight. All this time she had thought she would have to get ready to say goodbye to him, and there he was awake.

A smile spread across her face as she rushed over to him.

“Arthor.”

Leanah leaned over him and their gaze met. It was enough to make her cry again. Tears were running down her cheeks as she carefully let her hand rest against his cheek. It looked like he was in a lot of pain, but she couldn’t help herself. He was alive, and Leanah couldn’t be more happy about it. She had waited for this moment, thinking it would never happen, but all that waiting had been worth it.

“Gods, I thought I was going lose you. I thought I would never get to talk to you again.”

When Arthor winced as Leanah had touched his cheek, she wanted to pull her hand away, but then he had slightly tilted his head to lean against her hand. Their gaze still lingered on each other, and Leanah felt like she was getting lost in his eyes. It felt like such a long time ago since she had seen them. Then she was quickly thrown out of her haze as she remembered his pain and how long he had been asleep for.

“Do you need anything? Water?” Leanah asked as she raised her eyebrows.

Arthor nodded, and Leanah pulled her hand away from him, walking away from the bed. After quickly glancing over the room she found and an empty cup. Perhaps the Maester had used it for something, but it seemed clean, so Leanah used it to fill it with water from the pitcher that stood on the table. She wasn’t sure about the water either or what the Maester had used it for, but she made her way over to the Arthor with the cup.

Leanah held the cup as she raised it to his lips, getting the brim of it between his lips before she poured the water into his mouth. Not until Arthor started coughing did she pull the cup away.

“I’m sorry.”

Still Arthor hadn’t said a word to her, but Leanah assumed he was in such pain that made him unable to say anything. Perhaps she would have found the Maester or her mother. Instead, she stood there watching him as he held his hand over his stomach. It wasn’t exactly pleasant to see him in such pain, and Leanah sat down on the bed, leaning over him as she put her hand against the side of his head. Gently she stroked her fingers against the hair behind his ear, trying to find a way to comfort him through the pain.

“I’ve missed you so much. I stayed here with you every day waiting for you to wake up, and I thought you never would.”
 
When Leanah touched his cheek, Arthor tried to enjoy it. He wanted to like her touch, enjoy the comfort it gave him. Instead, he only felt pain again. All of Arthor wanted to move away, but he stubbornly did the opposite, tilding his head slightly against her hand. It fucking hurt, but Arthor tried not to think about that.

“Gods, I thought I was going lose you. I thought I would never get to talk to you again.”

Their eyes locked then, and Arthor thought he'd never seen something as beautiful. Now he would be able to believe that this was heaven. The pain faded slightly as Arthor only thought about her. He wanted to reach out and take her hand, stroke her hair, do anything, but though he tried he couldn’t lift his arm off the mattress.

“Do you need anything? Water?”

That broke his trance, and Arthor felt the pain again. He just wanted to watch Leanah and forget, and not feel a thing. That sounded blissful, and also unlikely. He nodded his head slightly, not even remembering what he was agreeing to. Leanah left his bedside and returned with a cup, raising it to his lips.

Arthor felt stupid. He couldn't even fucking drink on his own. It was pathetic and Arthor just wanted to get up from this bed, but he knew he couldn't. Leanah wasn't supposed to do this, she wasn't supposed to help him drink. Arthor felt humiliated in a way, but he almost forgot about it when he felt the water go down his throat. It felt nice until it didn't, and he broke out in a coughing fit.

His throat burned and so did his lungs, as Arthor coughed and tried to clear his airway. As he did that, his whole body felt as though it'd been lit on fire. Especially his stomach as it kept twitching with every cough he made. Arthor tried to stifle it and he winced as he slowly calmed down, though his hand had traveled down to hold his belly as though that'd help. He took a few shallow breaths and cursed himself in his mind. What must Leanah think of him now.

Though Arthor was a knight for many years now, he'd never gotten seriously injured or had to spend much time in a sickbed. He wasn't sure if that meant that he was skilled or just lucky. Either way, Arthor had always been happy that he'd escaped injuries. Now it was different, and Arthor wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. He'd never been in a situation like this.

What frightened him most now was the fact that he couldn't even really move. The pain in his leg worried him most. Arthor feared that he might never be as good as he used to be. What would happen then? Would Lady Carlys even keep him as her shield? If he couldn't fight, his life would be over. It was all that Arthor was good at.

The mattress dipped slightly as Leanah sat down on the bed. Arthor faintly felt her fingers stroke his hair. He closed his eyes at the feeling while he tried to ignore the pain. Leanah's touch was so gentle and caring that it was a stark contrast to everything else he felt. Arthor tried to focus on it, tried to take his mind off the pain.

“I’ve missed you so much. I stayed here with you every day waiting for you to wake up, and I thought you never would.”

Was that true? Fuck, for how long he been gone for? Arthor suddenly felt bad about how hurt Leanah must've been by this. He hadn't even said goodbye to Leanah that morning of the fight. Gods, he was horrible but at the time that felt like the best idea. Leanah would've only distracted him, he wouldn't have been able to focus with her on his mind.

“Leanah…”

Though it was a whisper, Arthor didn't even recognise his own voice. It sounded so strange, as though it belonged to someone he didn't know. It was hoarse and broken, and Gods it hurt to even get one word past his lips. But Arthor wanted to talk, he wanted to speak to Leanah even if it hurt.

There was a small smile on Leanah's lips then. It made Arthor feel a little better to see that. Arthor felt her hand touch his. It took him an embarrassing amount of strength to just turn his hand so that he could hold hers. Arthor tried not to think about it.

“Are you okay? Do you remember anything?”

If Arthor didn't know how much pain he'd be in, he would've laughed at that. Did he look okay? Arthor was afraid to imagine how pathetic he must look like to Leanah. He was thankful that she didn't leave his side, but Leanah was just a nice person, he doubted that she actually wanted to stay with him. Arthor wanted to look handsome around Leanah, he wanted her to like him, but this was the exact opposite. He hadn't seen himself in a mirror, but Arthor thought the pain was a good indicator that he not only felt like shit, but also looked like shit.

As for remembering… Arthor had trouble with that. He remembered bits and pieces. Arthor barely remembered what had happened before he fell to the ground. Thinking about it too much gave him a headache, so he stopped. Did it really matter anyways?

“No. Barely,” Arthor said, stubbornly talking through the pain and not wanting to admit defeat.
 
“Leanah…”

As soon as those words left Arthor’s lips, Leanah’s face lit up. After nearly losing Arthor there was something so special about hearing him say her name. It felt like an eternity had passed since the last time she had heard him say it. Now Leanah would make sure to cherish every moment with Arthor. Perhaps she would even become a little annoying since she was so frightened to lose him.

Especially now that he was awake, Leanah didn’t want to leave him. Unless she was told otherwise she would stay with him during the early mornings and late evenings just to give him some company, but also because she needed his company. She wanted to make more memories with him for her to remember and love, memories that she could think about if Arthor would one day die.

There was no way of knowing if something like this could happen again, and though Leanah didn’t want to go through it, she knew that she would have to be prepared to say goodbye to Arthor one day.

Leanah reached out to hold his hand after a smile tugged at her lips. She hoped that they would get home safely and stay out of the war that was approaching them. They would be safe in the castle, or at least that was what she believed.

War couldn’t really frighten Leanah when she barely knew the consequences of it. She knew what it was and that it was a dangerous thing to take part in, but since she had never seen it with her own eyes, it was difficult for her to create a thought in her head that made her think of war as something to be frightened of.

“Are you okay? Do you remember anything?”

It was nearly impossible for Leanah not to see the beauty in things. Even when Arthor looked like a mess laying there in front of her, she never once found him to look disgusting or ugly. The only thing looking at him made her think of was how hurt he must have felt, or how much pain he was feeling.

Sometimes it was difficult to look at him only because she worried about him, but beneath all the bandages and scars he was still the Arthor that she loved.

Leanah wondered if he truly remembered anything from what had happened. She didn’t really know much other than what her mother had told her, but she also wondered if he could remember anything from the time he had been unconscious. Perhaps he had heard her talk to him, or maybe he faintly remembered her gentle touches.

“No. Barely.”

“You won.”

Arthor looked away from her, and Leanah raised her eyebrows in confusion. Then she remembered the things he had told her the night before the combat, how he didn’t want to kill an innocent man. He had called himself a murderer, and Leanah sighed as she remembered their conversation. It was unfair even if they had won, and she tried to understand Arthor’s situation.

“Arthor, I’m sorry. I know this isn’t what you wanted, and that it isn’t fair. I’m sorry.”

There was still no answer from Arthor, and Leanah knew better than to keep pushing him to speak. She could only imagine the thoughts that were rushing through his mind now, and even if she wanted to ask him what exactly it was that he was feeling she let silence fall between them.

Perhaps Arthor just needed a moment.

Leanah still leaned up closer to him, and her movements were so slow as she pressed a gentle kiss against his forehead. She didn’t want to cause him any pain. After pulling slightly away from his forehead, she looked down at him, still leaning over his body as Arthor squeezed her hand.

“If you don’t want to talk about it that is fine. We don’t have to.”

Arthor nodded, and Leanah understood that. They could talk about it later, or never if that was what he wanted. As long as she was able to stay there with him, Leanah didn’t mind if they didn’t talk to each other. She sat back on the bed instead of leaning over him, still holding his hand, but now with both of hers so she could stroke his skin with both her thumbs over his knuckles.

"How long have I been here? What's happened since then?"

“A few days. Not much has happened, or I don’t know. I have mostly been staying here, but the execution happens today."

Leanah had been so occupied with Arthor that she honestly had no clue just how many days Arthor had been gone. Because of that she also had no clue what had happened other than what her mother informed her about. The Queen’s execution would happen soon since Arthor had won the battle, but Leanah imagined it had been mostly quiet in Wheldrake while Arthor hadn’t been awake.

"The execution?"

“The Queen’s execution.”

"Oh... right."

Her mother was probably there now. Perhaps even the Maester was there to watch. Leanah didn’t know, but she didn’t care either as she would most likely not be allowed to see it with her own eyes. Not that she wanted to now that Arthor was awake.

“I wish I could tell you more about what has happened, but I haven’t heard much really. Either way, you shouldn’t worry too much. You’re probably in a lot of pain.”
 
“You won.”

It should’ve made Arthor happy. He should’ve been glad that he had won the fight. That should’ve been what he felt, but instead Arthor just felt guilt and sorrow. The man was a stranger to him, and yet Arthor felt immense sorrow for what had happened. It might’ve been different if the fight was more fair, if Arthor hadn’t just won because luck had smiled upon him. Perhaps Arthor would feel differently then, but now he could just think about how unfair it all was.

Arthor looked up at the ceiling then, thinking about what happened. He tried to remember, but his mind stubbornly stayed cloudy over most details. Arthor felt how warm the blood had been, he remembered that so clearly. Over the smell of sweat and dirt, he remembered the stench of iron and it made him nauseous. He should’ve died there, he should’ve but he didn’t. What had Arthor done to deserve the mercy of the Gods? What had the other man done to deserve the opposite?

A murderer, that’s what he was. He was a pitiful, sorry excuse for a man. There was no glory in the way Arthor had won. He felt the guilt eat him up inside, and he wondered if it’d ever get better. Would the guilt heal just like his wounds would? A strange feeling in his tummy told him that it’d never go away. Forever this man and that horrible stench of blood would haunt him.

“Arthor, I’m sorry. I know this isn’t what you wanted, and that it isn’t fair. I’m sorry.”

There was no way Leanah understood what Arthor was going through now. He wondered if her words were true. Perhaps Leanah was disgusted with him as well. She should be. Yet here she sat and held his hand. Arthor didn’t deserve her, he didn’t deserve her gentle touch or sweet words. He deserved to die that day, beaten and bloody.

His thoughts were so captivating, that Arthor almost didn’t notice the sweet kiss pressed against his forehead. It must’ve been pity that made Leanah do such things. Arthor wanted her to leave, he wanted her to understand that he was no good and that she should just leave him. He wanted to tell her that, he wanted to tell her that she should take off the blindfold and see him for what he truly was. Still the only thing Arthor managed to do was squeeze her hand.

“If you don’t want to talk about it that is fine. We don’t have to.”

To that, Arthor managed to nod. He didn’t want to talk about it, he thought he never wanted to talk about it to anyone. What was the point? Nobody would understand anyways. Arthor would only frighten them away once and for all.

Through it all, there was still some curiosity in Arthor. Though the god awful stench of blood still lingered in his nose, he tried to ignore it. He tried not to think about it as he stared up into the ceiling. No, Arthor wouldn’t think about the fight, he refused to do that. When he’d be alone, that’s when he’d let his mind wander. But Gods, the blood…

"How long have I been here? What's happened since then?"

It was easier to speak now, but Arthor still struggled. That was alright though, he felt that he deserved all of the pain that he was going through now. He deserved that and so much more for all that he had done. Arthor wondered if things were the same, if everyone was still safe.

“A few days. Not much has happened, or I don’t know. I have mostly been staying here, but the execution happens today."

"The execution?"

“The Queen’s execution.”

Now Arthor felt dumb. Somehow that had slipped through his mind. If he had won, that meant that the trial was won. How had he forgotten that? Arthor felt awkward, and Leanah must’ve thought that he was a fool.

"Oh... right."

“I wish I could tell you more about what has happened, but I haven’t heard much really. Either way, you shouldn’t worry too much. You’re probably in a lot of pain.”

That was an understatement. But Arthor wanted to feel every bit of it now that he knew for sure that he deserved it. Stubbornly, Arthor turned his head slightly to look at her. His neck felt so stiff and awkward, that he thought it might break from the movement. It didn’t, much to his disappointment.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled.

"Are you sure?"

“Yes, Leanah, I’m sure.”

“So you’re not in pain?”

Arthor was in incredible pain, actually. He was sure that Leanah knew that well, because there was really no way that she’d think otherwise. Arthor wanted to just pretend that everything was alright and that he’d be fine, but his whole body fucking hurt. It was quite hard to ignore something like that.

“I am, but it’s fine.”

"If you say so. I just want you to be okay."

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me,” he mumbled.

It was clear to him that he didn’t deserve to have Leanah worrying about him. She was such a king soul that it was obvious she’d feel like this for her friend, but Leanah really shouldn’t hurt over this. Arthor wasn’t worth it, not really.

 
Their gaze met again, and Leanah tried to smile at him, but that happiness she had felt earlier was slowly being washed away by the worries she had for Arthor.

If Leanah could somehow make it easier for Arthor to deal with the pain, she wouldn’t have hesitated to do so. There was just one problem that she had no idea what that would be. If the Maester was there, he could have helped Arthor, but he wasn’t there. Leanah quickly glanced over all the different things that were scattered across the room. It didn’t look like there was anything there that could ease the pain for him.

“I’m fine.”

"Are you sure?"

“Yes, Leanah, I’m sure.”

“So you’re not in pain?” Leanah asked.

There was something about the way Arthor spoke that really didn’t make sense to her. His voice sounded different, but Leanah assumed that was because he felt sore or that it hurt, but it felt like he was pushing the fact that he was in pain away. Almost like he didn’t want to talk about it.

Leanah would never want to pressure Arthor into talking about things that made him uncomfortable, but it felt difficult not to ask such questions when she worried as much as she did for him.

“I am, but it’s fine.”

"If you say so. I just want you to be okay,” she sighed.

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

Gently Leanah squeezed his hand then. She shook her head because she didn’t want to believe that everything was fine. How could it be fine? He had gone through so much, and it had been obvious to Leanah that he had gotten upset earlier when she had told him that he won the trial for them. Something wasn’t right, and it made her body ache now knowing what that was and being unable to help him.

“I will always worry about you.”

Leanah would never stop caring for Arthor. Even if their friendship would ever end, she would still care about him. It wasn’t exactly easy for her not to care or worry. Arthor was someone so important to her that she wanted him to be okay at all times no matter how unrealistic that was. It confused her why she was so dedicated to him and their friendship. Why did it matter so much to her?

There didn’t seem to be a good answer to that question in her mind. Leanah tried to figure out just why she had stayed there with him for so long, and why she had worried for him as much as she had. Wasn’t it just normal for friends to care about each other? Arthor had been there for her after the incident in the hallway. He had been there for her after she lost Timos. Now Leanah was there for him.

"You shouldn't."

“Why shouldn’t I?”

A confused expression washed over her face then as she furrowed her eyebrows. What was that supposed to mean? Leanah didn’t understand why Arthor was saying that.

"Just shouldn't."

“But I do. I care about you. You mean so much to me Arthor, of course I am worried.”

"I'll be fine, Leanah. Have you been taking care of yourself?"

For a second Leanah wanted to tell him to stop pushing her away, but he wasn’t. All he was doing was telling her that he was fine and the she shouldn’t worry about him. Perhaps he would be fine, and Leanah was just being irrational and pushy towards him. She decided she would stop asking about him for now. Later if he seemed to be doing better, she would try to bring it up again.

Leanah looked away at his question. Gods, when was the last time she had gotten a good night sleep. She had somewhat taken care of herself, but not as well as she probably should have.

Would it hurt Arthor if she told him how there had been a lot of sleepless night where she had ended up sitting in the chair by his bed for hours only to get a few minutes of rest? Or that she hadn’t eaten much? It likely would, and Leanah wanted to lie to him and tell him that she had taken care of herself.

“Yes,” Leanah paused, thinking about what she was going to tell him. It wouldn’t be smart to tell him, but she couldn’t lie to him no matter how much she wanted to, “no.”

"Leanah..."

“I’m sorry. I just wanted to take care of you. I couldn’t sleep knowing that there was a chance you would never wake up.”

Leanah pulled her hands away from him, keeping them in her lap as she looked down at them. It wasn’t good that she hadn’t taken care of herself, and she knew that, but she couldn’t help it. She picked at her own fingers feeling guilty that she hadn’t remembered to think of herself. How was she supposed to do that when she thought Arthor would die? She had wanted to spend as much time as she could with him even if he had been unconscious just in case he wouldn’t wake up.
 
“Have you been taking care of yourself?"

Arthor didn’t want to hear anything more about how Leanah worried about him. It just made him feel awkward and undeserving of her care. She was too good for him, that was clear. The thoughts that sometimes crossed his mind now seemed so stupid, as he realised just how fucked up he was. Arthor didn’t deserve Leanah’ s friendship, much less anything more.

Now Arthor just wanted to focus on Leanah. He didn’t want to hear anything about himself, he didn’t want to think about himself. It just made him upset, and just made him think about the pain he was in. That wasn’t what he wanted, Arthor wanted to just lay there and feel nothing. Feeling nothing was better than this. Though Arthor thought he deserved the pain, he was selfish enough to want to avoid it if he could. He didn’t want to suffer, though he knew he should.

“Yes,” Leanah said.

That calmed Arthor down at least. It would make him feel guilty again if Leanah would’ve forgotten to care for herself because of him. No doubt Lady Carlys wouldn’t be exactly happy of that either.

Just as Arthor relaxed, Leanah spoke again, “no.”

"Leanah..." Arthor sighed.

It wasn’t Leanah’s fault, of course it wasn’t. It was his own, again. Leanah was just being a good person, caring for him like a friend should. She was being kind and loving, there was nothing wrong with what she was doing, but Arthor wished that she hadn’t. It made him feel almost nice that she cared for him that much, and he hated that.

“I’m sorry. I just wanted to take care of you. I couldn’t sleep knowing that there was a chance you would never wake up.”

With that, Leanah pulled her hands away from him. Arthor watched her for a while, thinking about how worried she must’ve been. If it was Leanah, Arthor knew that he would’ve done the same. He wouldn’t be able to sleep for a second, knowing that any moment could be their last together. The difference was that Leanah deserved someone caring this much for her.

All Arthor could think about now was Leanah sitting here by his bedside day and night. She didn’t look that bad, it didn’t look like she had stopped eating or lacked sleep. At least that calmed him a little bit, but he still worried about her.

Initially, Arthor wanted to reach out and take her hand, but his arm could only move so much. It felt like his shoulder couldn’t really move that well. The furthest he got was to rest his hand on top of her knee, while his eyes stayed locked on Leanah’s face. “When’s the last time you slept?”

"Does it matter?"

Arthor sighed and nodded, “it does to me.”

"Last night."

That didn’t really explain much to him. Arthor figured that she probably didn’t sleep that long. Not that it mattered that much, but he wanted her to take care of herself. What if he would’ve died? What would’ve happened to her then?

“I hope that’s true.”

Arthor wanted to keep pestering her about this, but he just couldn’t find it in him. His throat hurt from the talking, so did his head. Truthfully, Arthor just wanted to sleep now. Part of him wanted to stay up just to calm down Leanah and show her that he was alright, but… Gods, he was tired.

"It is, but I only slept for a little while before I came back here."

“I’m alright now, see? That means you can relax.”

Though Arthor was still in pain, he figured that if he’d die, he would’ve already done that. There was nothing to worry about now for Leanah. She could just leave and live again. That was the only thing that could help Arthor now. If she’d just sit by his bed and worry the whole day and night, Arthor would just feel like shit.

"I want to take care of you."

“I’m sorry, are you a Maester?”

That sounded rude even to Arthor. He wasn’t sure why he’d said it, but he regretted it immediately. It was a dumb thing to say, almost meant as a joke but it really didn’t come off as one. Arthor’s tone had been too wrong, it didn’t sound humorous, it just sounded rude.

"No, but I am your friend."

“As your friend I ask of you to take care of yourself, not me.”

"I don't want to leave."

Part of Arthor just wanted to tell her to leave. Say something rude, something mean to her that would make her despise him. Tell her something that would make her leave and never look back. But he couldn’t. Arthor loved Leanah, the thought of hurting her, even for her own good, sounded horrible to him. He could never do such a thing. Arthor felt guilty, he felt bad, but he also needed Leanah, he needed her to stay, because he was afraid to be alone with his thoughts.

Arthor sighed, “who said anything about leaving?”

With that, Leanah carefully moved down to lay down on the bed. Arthor moved his hand away from her knee and watched the girl as she laid down. He wanted to turn on his side and pull her close against him, but Arthor knew that it was neither appropriate nor possible. Arthor should’ve told her to leave, to go to her own rooms and stay there, but instead he was being selfish again. He should’ve sent her away, but Gods he wasn’t strong enough to do that.
 
The more Leanah thought about the lack of sleep, the more she realized how exhausted she truly felt. It was surprising that she hadn’t felt the need to sleep until now, but Arthor was awake and seemed to be doing somewhat okay. There was really no need for her to go around worrying when he was alive. Gods, when was even the last time she had gotten a full night of sleep? It seemed like forever ago.

Leanah had moved to lay down on the bed next to Arthor. Every move she made was gentle and slow, not wanting to hurt Arthor in the process of laying down and moving closer to him. She knew he couldn’t hold her and that she couldn’t hold him without causing him pain, so Leanah kept her hands to herself as she looked up at him.

If it was her choice she would have never left his side now, but sooner or later the Maester would be there, or her mother would, and no matter how innocent it was to them that they shared a bed it wasn’t a guarantee that they would understand. Still, Leanah didn’t care about the consequences of that as she smiled sweetly to him. She had missed him so much, missed his presence most of all.

There was something in the air the bothered her though like there was something wrong. Leanah wanted to ask Arthor again if he genuinely was alright, but she didn't dare to do so. They both needed to relax, and she feared if she were to ask him again that he would send her out of the room. Leanah didn’t want to stress Arthor about it, and she laid there completely still and silent.

Leanah found herself thinking about his words again, how he had said that she shouldn’t worry about him. It still confused her. For so long she had cared for him and worried about him. Though it wasn’t until recently that they had seemed to open more up to each other, Leanah had always been there for him one way or another.

They were friends, good friends. She loved him, and it was normal to worry about loved ones. It wasn’t unusual at all, and still, Arthor had told her that she shouldn’t worry. Why was that so? Even if he told her that, Leanah would never stop. She could have tried, but their bond to each other was so special to her that she didn’t want to give that up. It would have been an impossible task to complete if Arthor wanted her to stop caring or worrying.

Leanah lifted her arm to rest her hand against his. Gently she stroked her fingers across his skin, following a pattern as she stroked them up to his wrist and back down to his knuckles. Her gaze had shifted away from Arthor as she seemed to get lost in her own thoughts.

Perhaps it was weird how much Leanah truly cared for Arthor. He was her mother’s sworn shield after all. They weren’t really supposed to be friends, but they were, and her mother didn’t seem to mind that. Now her mother didn’t know what had happened between them either.

The movement of her fingers stopped once Arthor took her hand, and Leanah gently squeezed it as she looked back up at him. Even when he looked beaten, she looked into his eyes and quickly found herself getting lost in them. It was such an unfair thing that had happened to him. He hadn’t deserved to go through such a thing. Killing an innocent man, and getting beat up to the point where he had almost died. Stabbed and cut. No, Leanah didn’t think Arthor had deserved that and she felt sorry for him.

Also when their gaze met there was an overwhelming rush of emotions that washed over her. Leanah wasn’t sure what it was, but it felt both good and bad. With Arthor there was always the sense of it being wrong, but also feeling so right at the same time. It was confusing, even more confusing now that Leanah slowly raised her upper-body from the bed.

It all happened so fast when Leanah leaned closer to him only to come closer to his face and press her lips against his.

Leanah wasn’t sure where it had come from. Maybe it was the need she felt for answers, or maybe she was just happy to see him. Either way she closed her eyes as she moved her lips ever so gently against his, letting out a slight sigh at how comforting it felt. Even if his lips were slightly dry, it felt good. Why was she enjoying it? Leanah should have pulled away immediately and apologized, but she didn’t.

The kiss was sweet, especially when Arthor returned it and kissed her back.

Arthor pulled away then, and Leanah avoided his gaze as she let her head rest down against the mattress again. Had it been wrong? Maybe he hadn’t enjoyed it? She wasn’t sure, but also she came to realize that it was probably for the best if they hadn’t kept kissing. Someone could have walked in, and they were just friends. Leanah kept telling herself that as she wondered why she had even gone as far as to kiss him.

Those thoughts quickly vanished once she felt Arthor squeeze her hand and stroke his thumb over her skin. Only then did Leanah look up at him again. She felt like apologizing, but for what? For enjoying it? For kissing him? She wasn’t sure, and instead, she stayed silent while the feeling of Arthor’s lips lingered on hers.

The temptation to do it again kept pushing back into her mind, but she knew she couldn't.

“Are you sure you want me to stay?” Leanah asked as she finally broke the silence between them.

Instead of answering, their lips met again. It was shorter than the kiss before but still sweet. Leanah took that as a yes to her question and smiled sweetly to him as she pulled away. Gods, they were foolish. She felt foolish just because she wanted to kiss him again and again. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep making her think such things.

"Stay."

“Okay,” she smiled.

Leanah felt like she could finally relax. Whether that was because of the kiss or the fact that he was telling her to stay, she wasn’t sure, but at least her shoulders didn’t feel heavy anymore. Arthor squeezed her hand again, and this time she attempted to gently lace their fingers together. When that didn’t work out, she chuckled quietly as she met his gaze. Now she couldn’t stop thinking about that damned kiss.

Once again Leanah leaned forward until her lips met his. No matter how foolish it was, Leanah didn’t want to stop.
 
Again, their hands touched. It was so simple and yet so sweet, that it made Arthor’s heart race in his chest. There was something strange, though, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. Something felt off to him, but that must’ve been the guilt that was eating him apart inside. It was easier to put it off as just that than anything else.

Every part of Arthor wanted to feel happy that Leanah was here with him. He wanted to smile at her, laugh with her, but that just didn’t happen. Everything inside of him just felt wrong, like he wasn’t supposed to wake up, like he was supposed to be dead. Everything was just wrong, and Arthor couldn’t shake that feeling off of him. It was almost as though Sir Rowan’s blood was still on him, and it would never come off.

The happiness just turned to guilt every time. Arthor felt bad that he was taking so many hours out of Leanah’s life. She should’ve been living, not sit at his bedside. Deep inside he thanked her for being so caring towards him, but Gods it just felt unfair. They weren’t even supposed to be friends, it was highly inappropriate of Leanah to take such an interest in him. No doubt that the Maester was raising his eyebrows at that. Arthor wasn’t sure about Lady Carlys, though, because she at least seemed to be accepting of their friendship.

Their eyes met then, and Arthor felt so calm that it almost felt wrong. He just felt nothing then, because he dared not to feel happy. It was as though Arthor couldn’t look away from her. Not even when she moved to lean over him. His gaze left her only when their lips met and his eyes closed instinctively.

There was nothing right about this. Arthor thought about pulling away, he did, and the thought calmed him down a bit. It never became a reality though, and soon enough Arthor found himself returning the kiss. When was the last time they’d kissed? It had been too long ago. Arthor knew he wasn’t supposed to enjoy it, but it made him distracted from his problems.

It was selfish of him to keep kissing her. He knew that well, and he knew that it was awfully stupid. Arthor knew it and yet he continued. They should’ve stopped, Gods, they should’ve stopped but neither of them did. It was only when the thought of Lady Carlys and Maester Konari crossed Arthor’s hazed mind, that he pulled away from Leanah’s lips.

Arthor tried to meet her eyes, but Leanah refused to do that and instead she let her head rest against the mattress again. Leanah must’ve been upset with him, he understood. Arthor squeezed her hand gently, as his thumb stroked over her skin. Then, Leanah looked up at him. They just watched each other while the silence around them became almost uncomfortable.

Without her lips against his, Arthor felt those stupid fucking thoughts creep up on him. He could taste blood in his mouth again and he felt himself growing distant again. Arthor didn’t want that, he wanted that calmness again. He wanted to feel her again.

“Are you sure you want me to stay?”

Instead of answering her, Arthor leant forwards slightly and kissed her sweetly. He didn’t linger for too long as they pulled away slightly again from each other. Leanah was smiling. Gods, she was beautiful. How could Arthor ever resist her lips?

"Stay."

The word left Arthor’s lips before he could think much of it. It was inappropriate, and it was selfish of him. He shouldn’t take advantage of her like that, and yet he made her stay with him. Leanah felt bad for him, Arthor knew it. He knew that she was only kissing him because of the pity she felt for him. That had to be it. Even if it was, it still made Arthor feel better, as pathetic as it was. He just needed someone, and Leanah was the only one here.

“Okay.”

Leanah chuckled slightly at something, but Arthor didn’t understand what. He just watched her, getting lost in her gaze again. It was soothing, it was healing, and it was absolutely destroying him. Arthor knew he’d regret it later on. There was nothing right about this, and if someone would walk in they’d be in trouble. Perhaps Lady Carlys would be angry enough to have Arthor executed for this. Unlikely, but a man could hope.

Their lips met and Arthor stopped thinking again. It was easy to focus on her lips, on how nice she tasted and felt. Then Arthor didn’t think about the blood and everything that was wrong with him. Life was easier with Leanah’s lips against his.

Perhaps this was all a fever dream. It seemed almost likely. Or perhaps Arthor was just hopeful. That would make everything better. If he could just wake up in Santrella and nothing would be wrong… As he pulled away again, his eyelids were so heavy that Arthor couldn’t even open them again. He wanted to look into those beautiful eyes again, but the strength had left his body.

Arthor heard Leanah lay down, and felt her scoot closer to him. He would’ve liked to wrap his arms around her, but Gods they felt so heavy… The talking and the kissing, and the thinking, it all must’ve drained Arthor from his strength fully. He hadn’t even realised how tired he had gotten, but now it all hit him at once. Arthor wanted to say something, it felt right to tell her something now, but sleep overtook him before he could even open his mouth.
 
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Execution
Chapter L
House Wynver
Forwards From Beneath
Wheldrake, Crownlands of Aedighar
​
It was a day Trevas had looked forward to for such a long time. The day he would get rid of such a burden that had been resting against his shoulders for years. For many, it was a sad day. Trevas had woken up to the slight tapping against the windows and grey clouds that poured rain into the streets.

Perhaps the Gods knew what was waiting for them.

Everyone in Wheldrake knew what would happen. They would lose their Queen whether they loved her or hated her. Even if someone could see past the accusations that had been made against her, and still adore her, they would have to see or hear of the news of her execution.

There wasn’t a part of Trevas that felt upset or devastated by the thought of that. He had looked down upon the town that laid beneath the castle, and there was no regret. Katlyn deserved to die for his crimes. Trevas knew if the Hastwycks had gotten it their way and accused him, Aedighar would end up in the hands of the Northerners that were marching towards them.

In his mind, Aedighar would never prosper in the hands of the Northerners.

For many years now he had managed to sit on the throne with the power in his own hands. Though people despised him, Trevas had held onto his power and handled it the way Aedighar needed him to handle it. Many wanted a kind King, a King who would show mercy upon those who went against him. Trevas found kind Kings to look weak. It wasn’t good to always be compassionate and just.

Sometimes Trevas had to be harsh and show the men of Aedighar what he was capable of. He liked to believe that he was a strong King. He had good allies and men who would stand up for him even if they did it out of fear. There were a few loyal people that sat by his table, and no one had managed to throw him off the throne yet. Trevas didn’t fear the Northerners. Neither did he fear the Southerners.

The Westerners were rich and strong. They had a powerful army of men who were used to blood and mud. Trevas too had resources of his own. Knights who were willing to risk their lives for him. It was just such a shame that he had lost one of his own guards because Katlyn had demanded a trial by combat. Trevas would never forget the hatred he had felt towards Katlyn then.

A part of him had felt nervous that Sir Rowan would win the combat for Katlyn, but Trevas found himself happy that the Southern Knight had won. It wasn’t exactly how he had planned it to go, but at last Katlyn would get her head cut off in front of everyone who wanted to watch and see as their Queen took her last breath.

There was one thing that bothered Trevas as he had gotten ready to watch his own wife die. Those things he had felt and thought as he had visited her that one day confused him. It made him angry that he couldn’t understand why he had felt such guilt for what he was doing towards her. Katlyn deserved it, but still, the words she had said, those sweet sounds that escaped from her lips, lingered on his mind late at night.

Gods, Trevas just wanted to get rid of her already. He wanted to slit her throat and watch her bleed to death in front of him. That was what she deserved.

It was like a whole new person had taken over his thoughts once he had stepped out of his bedchamber. There was a small urge inside of him, like a little whisper telling him to go see her, but Trevas couldn’t. Trevas didn’t want to see Katlyn. He was frightened if he did that he wouldn’t be able to control himself, and he didn’t want to admit anything to her. What they had shared many years ago was so long gone that it would be impossible to get that back, and he hated himself for even thinking for a second that they could have fixed things.

Everyone around him was coming to him to express how sorry they were for what he would lose, thinking that Trevas was upset with having to lose his wife. He wasn’t upset. He was sure he wouldn’t actually shed a single tear for Katlyn. No matter what they had shared together, it was time for him to move on from her.

Trevas hadn’t seen Katlyn yet that day. He had been escorted by one of his guards down to where the execution would take place. Everything was ready. The place was rather clean considering that it soon would be painted in Katlyn’s blood. Some people had already gathered, waiting for something to happen. Trevas had made sure that Ashara and Elaria were to stay in their bedchambers still.

It wasn’t good to have them running around. He wasn’t sure why he was trying to keep them away from everything. Perhaps he was frightened that they would get angry with him. Either way, he thought of it as protecting them. He imagined that seeing their own mother die wasn’t exactly a good thing. If anything it would just crush them. Trevas knew he would have to talk to them about the situation sooner or later but now was not the time. It could wait until Katlyn was dead.

There was also other news he would have to make public. How he would remarry and maybe he would be lucky enough to receive a son that he had always wanted. It was what he needed in the times of a war approaching them. He needed the safety of having a male heir to take over his place. Elaria still wasn’t with child, and Trevas had lost hope for her and Justan a long time ago. There was no way he could get a child from Katlyn either. This was what was best for Aedighar and his family.

It would have brought him great enjoyment to swing the sword himself. Trevas wanted to look Katlyn in the eyes and take her life in his hands. That wasn’t his job though.

More people had gathered, and Trevas realized he had been quite early as he had stood there for a while just staring out into nothing while he like everyone else waited for Katlyn. As soon as he saw her being escorted by the guards a strange feeling washed over him. This was the mother of his daughters, the woman he had loved and been proud to marry.

Trevas had once cared for her, and now he would have to watch her die.
 
For days Katlyn had been all alone. Her only interactions came from the handmaidens that took care of her and brought her food and drink. It wasn’t exactly the type of women Katlyn preferred to speak to, so even then she mostly stayed quiet. They only talked when necessary, and Katlyn shut them down the second she could. Katlyn knew that if she’d open her mouth and speak, she wouldn’t be able to control the words that would leave her.

There would be nothing holding Katlyn back. She was going to die in the next few days, so what did she have to lose? Katlyn knew that, and she didn’t dare to find out what she might say when she wasn’t being held back. Over all, Katlyn wanted to die like she had lived and not sink down to the levels of cursing out handmaidens or Gods know who else. That would just be embarrassing.

Throughout her life, Katlyn knew that she wanted to die with her pride in tact. She didn’t want to weep, she didn’t want to shout or scream, she simply wanted to leave this world like the Queen she was. A Queen shouldn’t cause a scene, and she wouldn’t do that. Katlyn would go willingly, and she’d face the Stranger like a friend.

The aftermath of her death was the only thing that constantly worried her. What happened to Trevas or Wheldrake didn’t bother her. The Northmen could come and rape the city, and Katlyn couldn’t care less. The only thing that mattered to her was the well-being of her daughters. Katlyn knew very well of just how shitty of a father Trevas would be to them, and it worried her to no end. What would happen to her girls without her?

Thankfully it seemed that they both hated her. Elaria hadn’t talked to her since that night she’d snuck into her prison, and that conversation hadn’t exactly gone well. Katlyn thought about it often, and it hurt her to lose her daughter, but perhaps it was for the better. Ashara? Katlyn hadn’t seen her or heard from her ever since her imprisonment.

If they’d lost their love for her, Katlyn accepted that. She’d love them until her last breath, but her thoughts didn’t really matter. Katlyn would die, but her daughters would live. If they’d hate her, perhaps the loss of their mother wouldn’t strike them as hard. That was her only soothing thought during these days, as morbid as it was.

It should’ve frightened her that her own death was approaching, but it really didn’t bother her all too much. Katlyn thought she didn’t really care about anything enough to actually be scared. Besides, Trevas would likely find joy in her tears, so that kept her away from that as well. Katlyn wanted to be strong until the last moment, and that was what she planned to do.

When the day of her execution came, Katlyn woke with an almost pleasant feeling. It felt like her story was coming to an end, the pages of her book were running out and the ink was dry. It was almost nice to know that this was it, that she didn’t have to worry about tomorrow. Katlyn didn’t have to worry about anything anymore. A weight was lifted from her shoulders, and she found herself almost content with her fate.

Was it fair? Of course not. Katlyn was getting the full blame for her dear husband’s crimes. She’d never even spoken against it once, not once had she said that it was all Trevas’ fault. Nobody would’ve listened anyways. What was the point of fighting when losing was imminent?

Now the whole of Aedighar would think that Katlyn had killed Timos Hastwyck. It was a shameful way to be included in history books, but so be it. At least Katlyn would be remembered somehow, even if it was for something so horrible.

The handmaidens that rushed around her seemed a bit nervous today as well. Perhaps they were happy that they wouldn’t have to serve her anymore. Katlyn smiled at the thought. She asked them to bring her golden dress with white embroidery. If Katlyn was going to die, she would at least die wearing the colours of her own House, not Trevas’.

Not only that, but it was almost a practical choice as well. The neckline of the dress was rather deep, and revealed her neck both from the front and back which would make it a lot more easier for the executioner to not fuck up. Wearing a necklace seemed rather pointless to Katlyn, so she declined the handmaiden’s offer to wear it. Instead she took out the need to wear jewelry by putting on some rings and bracelets. Katlyn was going to die in front of a crowd, therefore she knew she had to look as beautiful as ever even in her final moments.

After Katlyn declined breakfast and calmed her nerves by drinking a cup of strong wine, Sir Marvyn and Sir Edgart of the Kingsguard escorted her through the castle and outside to a carriage that brought her to the Great Sept of Wheldrake. There was a rather large crowd gathered, and Katlyn wondered how come they didn’t have anything better to do.

When Katlyn exited the carriage and the both Kingsguard Knights escorted her up the steps, she heard the commoners shout rather obscene things at her. It wasn’t unexpected, and Sir Marvyn had mentioned that everyone was rather angry at her, but Katlyn still found herself growing angry at them. She didn’t deserve this.

It wasn’t fair, but Katlyn would deal with it. She wouldn’t show herself being weak now, not now and not ever. That wasn’t how she wanted to be seen. Instead, Katlyn walked up the steps cautiously, almost purposefully ignoring the King’s Justice standing there, with a frighteningly large Great Sword in his hands. Her eyes focused on the High Septon first as she bowed her head, “Your Holiness.”

It was all just pleasantries, really. Something Katlyn hated dearly, but still couldn’t shake off even in her last breaths. She couldn’t care less about the High Septon or his bullshit Gods that he’d talk about soon enough. He’d say a prayer for her, say some meaningless phrases to the crowd before ultimately her head would be cut off. The Gods were bastards, that’s all Katlyn knew and cared for.

Her feet felt like they weighed a thousand pounds as Katlyn made her way towards Trevas. He was the King after all. It’d be awfully rude not to pay any attention to him, as he always craved it. As Katlyn’s eyes traveled up to meet his, she felt strange. Not a good strange, not a bad strange, just… strange.

Unwillingly, Katlyn’s mind was taken back to a day so many years ago when they both stood here. The crowd in front of them then had been much different, though. They had cheered for them as they had their first look at their King and his new Queen. Their wedding had been a beautiful day, so very different from this one, and Katlyn tried to push those thoughts away. What did it matter anymore, anyways. All had been lost. Because of her or because of him, or had it been them both after all?

Katlyn collected her thoughts, as hard as that was, and curtsied in front of Trevas as her eyes stubbornly stayed locked on his, “My King.”


 
Faint memories were flourishing in Trevas’ mind as his gaze met Katlyn’s.

For what felt like in forever, Trevas seemed to remember the day he had seen Katlyn walk down the aisle in the Sept. There had been a smile on his face then. Gods, he had been so impatient. Trevas had wanted to kiss her as soon as he had put his cloak over her shoulders. Who cared about the vows? He had wanted to show everyone just how proud he had been to marry such a beautiful woman.

It was almost expected since he was the King, but Katlyn had still managed to sweep Trevas off his feet from the first day they had met. They had been so young, smitten by each other to the point where he had felt blinded by love. He hadn’t been able to get enough of her. Every day Trevas had been all over Katlyn. He wanted to shower her in the love and admiration he felt for her.

Trevas remembered the day she had revealed she was with child. He had been so proud.

There had been nothing Trevas wanted more than to be the father of Katlyn’s children. Their love had been so deep, so real. It had probably been easy for the people around them to see their love for each other grow stronger and stronger by each day that passed. Even when his firstborn child had been Elaria, and not the son he had wished for, Trevas had cherished the moment he first saw his daughter.

It had been so surreal to feel Elaria’s small fingers wrap around his finger, watching her as her eyes lit up every time Trevas attempted to make her laugh. He had loved Elaria so much, and as soon as Ashara came around, Trevas had found himself overjoyed with his role as their father.

In the afternoons he had laid on their bed with both girls in his arms, looking over at Katlyn feeling so proud of what they had created. They had created a beautiful family together, and Trevas had for once felt happy. Katlyn had helped him forget all the horrible things his mother had told him. All the blood and death his mother had forced him to look at. The words his mother had drilled into his head as soon as he had been old enough to talk.

Katlyn had been the love of his life, the light of his life.

Then everything had stopped. Their love had faded, and now Trevas hated Katlyn. She had gone behind his back for so many years, and Trevas had fallen into a miserable place surrounded by the duties he had to do as the King. He could have piled all his work onto his men and spent more time with his family, but once Trevas had gotten the taste for power he had only wanted more.

Love didn't matter anymore.

“My King.”

Trevas wanted to tear his gaze away from Katlyn at her words. Gods, all those moments they had shared together. Why were they coming back now? He wanted her to die. He wanted to see her head leave her body in front of the eyes of everyone. There was no love between them, and still those confusing feelings he had felt while visiting her after the trial was coming back to him.

It was a mix of guilt and sadness building up inside him, and Trevas furrowed his brows in confusion as to why he was feeling such things. This was what he wanted. He wanted Katlyn to disappear from his life.

There was no way he could ever forgive her for her mistakes, and there was no way he could ever admit his own mistakes either. Trevas struggled to push those damned thoughts away. He struggled to even open his mouth to say something back to his wife. His wife. Katlyn was his, and soon she wouldn’t be his anymore.

Impulsively Trevas grabbed her wrist. His eyes were locked on hers, but his gaze wasn’t harsh. It was quite the opposite of harsh. Just like the day they had wed, Trevas looked at Katlyn like any husband should have looked at their wife. He felt so uncomfortable standing there overwhelmed by his own emotions. In reality, he had no clue what it even meant or why it was happening.

Wasn’t this what he had wanted for so long?

Trevas placed his other hand against her shoulder as he pulled Katlyn closer to him. What was he going to do? Kiss her? Hug her? Katlyn put her hand over his, and gods, and he wanted to pull away. He wanted to push her away from him even though he had been the one to pull her closer. It was like he had completely frozen in his place, unable to do anything.

“My Queen,” Trevas said.

Katlyn squeezed his hand, and Trevas leaned down until their lips were barely touching. He lingered there until he could feel her breath across his skin, and to the point where his body was aching to feel her lips against his. But no, Trevas didn’t give them the satisfaction of a kiss. Before he could press their lips together, he had pulled away. Why had he wanted to kiss her? He hated her. Or perhaps he didn’t?

Trevas doubted his own mind. He was questioning his own emotions. None of it made sense, and it angered him. It was so frustrating, and even though he hadn’t kissed her, Trevas was still holding onto his wife, not letting her go. Even when the people around them seemed to be waiting for him to leave her to the hands of the King’s Justice, Trevas didn’t. He held onto her shoulder and wrist so damn tightly.

There had to be more time. This wasn’t enough. Trevas wanted more time, but he couldn’t get the words out. He was the King, and he could have stopped it all, told them all to go back to their homes so he could speak to his wife. Something that he hadn’t done truthfully in a long time. No matter how much he wanted to, Trevas was so silent as he looked at his wife.

How was it even possible to hate and love one person as much as Trevas did at that moment?
 
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There was something in the way that Trevas was looking at her and holding her wrist that made Katlyn’s heart ache. It wouldn’t have been obvious to anyone else present, but she saw it. Nobody in this world knew Trevas better than Katlyn did, and for once she saw in his eyes the man that she had fallen in love with so many years ago.

Gods, Katlyn hadn’t expected it to hurt this much all of a sudden. The emotions that overtook her were so strong and so painful, that Trevas’ hand around her wrist was almost soothing in a way. No matter how hard she tried, Katlyn couldn’t tear her gaze away from him.

Trevas was both the best and the worst thing that had ever happened to her. There was nobody in this world who she harbored emotions so strong for, whether they were love or hate. Nobody could hurt her like Trevas, nobody could make her feel as good as Trevas. He was one of a kind, he was the only man she had ever loved in her life. He was hers and she was his.

The day of their wedding was so clear in her mind. Katlyn had already fallen for Trevas by that time, but Gods when she saw him in that Sept he had become her whole life. Trevas had put his cloak around her, taken her under his protection. He had been the man to rise her up to greatness and he was the man that had ruined her. Trevas was both everything and nothing to her.

When their children had been born, Katlyn had been so happy that the pain the girls had brought her had gone from her mind. Trevas was so happy to be a father, he was so good at it too. He was sweet and kind to his girls, and he’d spend whole afternoons with them. It was such a wonderful sight, and Katlyn would never forget the smile Trevas had on his face when he was around their daughters.

Katlyn remembered the words he had said that one night in their room. How he had never been happy with her and how he’d never loved her. She still stubbornly didn’t believe that. Trevas couldn’t have faked his emotions that well, it couldn’t have been true. Her life hadn’t been a lie, she knew it. Katlyn knew that Trevas loved her, at least during one part of his life.

But was this hate? It didn’t feel like hate, the grip around her wrist didn’t feel harsh and neither was the look Trevas was giving her. Katlyn wouldn’t be able to describe it to anyone, but every part of her felt strange as they stood there. It was almost like nobody else mattered in the world then. At that moment, it was just him and her. It felt oddly familiar and strangely comfortable.

There was no doubt in Katlyn that the love she held for this man still sat somewhere deep inside of her. She wanted to feel it again, she wanted him to hold her in his arms like he used to, kiss her like he used to. Gods, she just wanted to love Trevas again. It had been so easy to do that.

They had been so in love. During those first years, there hadn’t been a day where they weren’t all over each other. Katlyn loved that. It was like their love was so strong that they just couldn’t keep their hands away from one another. Sometimes it had been awfully inappropriate, but neither of them ever gave a fuck about that. Just like now, at those moments it had only been Trevas and her in the world. Everything and everyone else was meaningless when their lips met.

How had they lost something so strong, so true? It had been years, and Katlyn still struggled to understand how it had gone to shit so fast. She just wished she could turn back time and fix everything… it seemed so easily repairable. There was nothing they could do about it now though. If they felt something other than hatred towards each other, there was no point. Time was running out.

Trevas’ other hand went to her shoulder as he pulled her closer to him. What were they here for again? Katlyn’s mind was all over the place, she couldn’t really think about anything other than Trevas. Absentmindedly, her hand reached up and she laid it over his bigger one that rested on her shoulder. She wished that they would’ve been alone, that they would have some time for each other. There were things Katlyn wanted to tell him, things that she just wanted to get off her chest.

“My Queen.”

Of all the things that Trevas could’ve said, that wasn’t what Katlyn had expected. She wasn’t sure if it made her happy or sad, but it made her feel something. Whatever it was, Katlyn hated it and wanted it to go away, but it stubbornly stayed and grew inside of her. Katlyn’s hand squeezed his gently, though she wasn’t sure why. Was she comforting him? Was he comforting her?

Before Katlyn could decide on an answer to that, Trevas leant down so close to her. His lips were so near, so close that Katlyn closed her eyes, expecting them to meet. But they never did. Katlyn opened her eyes again when she felt his warm breath move away again, and she watched him while he watched her. There was a strange disappointment inside of her when their lips never touched.

Trevas’ hands were still on Katlyn, and her hand was still on top of his. It felt like they were glued together, and Katlyn didn’t dare to move away from him. She didn’t want to. She just wanted to stand with him for hours, lost in his gaze and in her thoughts. Trevas still had such power over her, forever and always.

Everything inside of her felt wrong because of this. Katlyn should’ve hated this man, and she did. She hated everything about what he had become, what he had done to her and their daughters. Yet at the same time, Gods she loved him. She did, she knew she did. Trevas had been the love of her life, her one and only and nothing could ever make the love she held for him go away. She didn’t love the man that he had become, but there was a glint in his eyes that made him look like the one she had married, and Gods Katlyn just couldn’t control herself.

Their first true kiss had been here, and it only seemed fitting that so would their last. Trevas had pulled away before their lips could meet, but Katlyn didn’t care. She was dead, dying, gone in minutes. What Trevas wanted wasn’t something she worried about. All she knew was that she craved to feel his lips on hers just one more time. Katlyn wanted to close her eyes and imagine that everything was alright, that they were in their room and that nobody was bothering them. She wanted to imagine just for a second that all was well, and it was just the two of them.

The hand that was on top of his moved to Trevas’ cheek as Katlyn leant up to almost forcefully catch his bottom lip between hers. The people gathered, both nobles and commoners, were likely watching, but Katlyn didn’t care one bit. Katlyn had never cared about what others might think of things like these, which Trevas should’ve known by now. Who cared what the crowd thought? All Katlyn cared about was that Trevas returned the kiss.

She would be gone soon, that was unavoidable, but Katlyn wanted Trevas to remember her. No matter how selfish it was, Katlyn wanted to stay in the back of his mind. She wanted every kiss, every touch, every woman he’d have after this to remind him that she had been his once, and that she had been better. Katlyn didn’t want to hurt him, nor did she think that she actually could, but Gods she just wanted Trevas to remember for the rest of his life how fucking good they had been.


 
Their lips met, and Trevas had closed his eyes as he let himself enjoy what would be their last kiss.

It was like his own thoughts and emotions were having a war within his body. Parts of him still wanted to hate Katlyn for everything that she had done to him. There was still that slight whisper telling him to just get it over with and kill her already, and yet he found himself kissing Katlyn with such passion that he hadn’t felt in years.

The kiss only made him more confused as to what he was feeling. More thoughts were rushing into his mind. Memories that he hadn’t thought of in so long seemed so clear to him now that their lips had met. Even small things that Trevas thought he had forgotten was coming back to him.

It didn’t matter to Trevas that people were looking, that they were just there to see their Queen die. He wanted to kiss her, and no one dared to step in between them to tell them that it was time to stop. Trevas’ hand had traveled from her shoulder and down to her waist, gently squeezing it as he pulled her so close to him.

Such things had never mattered to Trevas. In the earlier days of their marriage, they seemed unable to keep their hands off each other, even when surrounded by other people. It was easy for Trevas to get lost with Katlyn, pulling her away from important meetings or other activities just to feel her skin against his. Never had he cared about where they ended up, and neither did he care if there were people that could have seen them at any time.

They were the King and Queen. No one would speak up to them if they saw them being inappropriate, and since no one spoke up, the risk of being caught wasn’t much of a risk anymore. It was more a thrilling experience that he had shared with Katlyn many times, whether they were outside or on the Throne room.

This wasn’t much different. Trevas couldn’t care less about what the nobles and commoners thought of them as they shared their last kiss. He was letting himself get lost with her, letting her wrist go as his hand went to rest on the side of her neck. His thumb dragged along her jawline, and Trevas wanted to take Katlyn away. Far away where they could get away from the troubles and execution.

It was frightening him how much power and control one single kiss from Katlyn had on him. Trevas didn’t like it. He wasn’t regretting putting Katlyn in his place to pay for his crimes. He still believed that she deserved every second of it, but there was something in him that was doubting it just for a second.

Gods, what did it mean?

Trevas was so used to being in control of his own emotions that now as they were flowing through him without that control he had no idea what they meant. If it was love, guilt, regret, or sadness. He didn’t know. All he knew was that Katlyn’s lips felt good against his. Her touch was so gentle against his cheek, and the hand resting against his shoulder just made Trevas press their bodies all the way together.

For a second he wondered what would have happened if the Hastwycks had never accused him.

Their kiss ended then as Trevas pulled away from her lips, not meeting her gaze as he instead moved both arms to wrap around her body so he could pull her into his embrace. He leaned down to press his cheek against hers, closing his eyes once again as he tried to figure out the right words to say. It was like he struggled with his own words. One part of him wanted to stay quiet and not let himself fall into that hole, but Gods, his body was aching to let her know just what it was that he was thinking at that moment.

“I should have taken you away,” Trevas whispered, “I love you.”

As soon as those words left his lips, he was regretting saying it. He hadn’t heard himself say those three words to her in years, and here he was standing so damn pathetic telling his wife that he loved her. It felt like his mind was going to explode, and Trevas’ head ached. Why should he have taken her away? Why did he love her? He hated her, and this was what he wanted. He wanted her dead and gone from his life.

It was making him extremely uncomfortable.

Trevas didn’t feel like himself anymore. For the last few years, he had grown into such a harsh person that just showing Katlyn some kindness made his skin crawl. At the same time, it felt good. Almost like he was able to open up to her for the last time. He had closed himself off, stayed that way for so long, and now he was showing her just how vulnerable he actually was.

Still, he wasn’t admitting defeat. He wasn’t taking the blame for what was happening. Trevas would find someone else to blame because there was no way he would ever feel responsible for what had happened to her.

“Your Grace.”

Before Trevas was able to say anything else, Sir Marvyn was the brave one who dared to speak up. Hadn’t it been for the fact that he felt so confused with the situation he would have scolded his Knight for speaking up, but instead Trevas let Katlyn go without looking at her or meeting her gaze. Instead, his eyes were locked on the King’s Justice who seemed so ready to cut off the Queen’s head.

Perhaps it was now he could step in and yell at everyone to leave. It seemed like a good time to take Katlyn with him and not think of the consequences anymore, but Trevas was again frozen in place where he stood. He was a coward for not having the courage to do what was either right or wrong.

It was the fact that it would make him look weak and incredibly guilty that kept him away from pulling Katlyn back to him. As their King, Trevas was supposed to be strong, and he had always believed he was a strong King by being harsh and showing close to no emotion towards his people. That had always been his way, and it didn’t feel right to suddenly change all of that just to save the one person who was making him go mad. To them, she was the guilty one of the murder of Timos Hastwyck. What would they have thought of him if he was to save her?

Trevas knew he would have regretted saving her as well. He kept telling himself over and over again that this was what she deserved, and he reminded himself of the things she had done to him. It didn’t matter what he had felt during the kiss or what he felt now that he dared to look at her again. Soon that would all be over, and Trevas wouldn’t regret his final decisions. Neither would he feel guilty. Soon he would push all his irrational thoughts and emotions away and not look back at what he and Katlyn had shared.
 
There were no words that could describe what was going on in Katlyn’s mind. She herself couldn’t understand what she was feeling. Was it love or was it hate? Was it a mix of both? It was so confusing, and so overwhelming, that Katlyn didn’t even want to think about it. She just wanted to truly feel Trevas’ lips against hers just one last time, and not think about anything else.

They’d lost so many years because of their stupid fucking mistakes. Katlyn was so angry at that, angry at herself and angry at Trevas. They could’ve grown old together, they could’ve added a few more children to their family, they could’ve been happy. But it all went to shit because of their foolish behavior. They should’ve done something about it once they noticed things were going downhill, but they didn’t. They had been so stubborn and foolish…

It was impossible to just blame one of them for all of this. Katlyn knew it was the fault of them both, it was painfully obvious even if she didn’t want to admit it. She should’ve told Trevas that she needed time to heal, perhaps he would’ve listened. What would’ve happened then? Would they still end up here?

Gods it fucking hurt to think about it. Katlyn almost desperately kissed Trevas then, putting in all of her hate and love and regret and guilt in this one kiss. She felt his hand on her waist before she was pulled closer against him. How could a kiss, a touch be so powerful? It made Katlyn’s body and mind belong to Trevas in that moment.

There was no doubt in Katlyn’s mind that Trevas was her one and only, her true love and soulmate. If that wasn’t true, then Katlyn wouldn’t feel so strongly about him, whether it was love or hate. Why did it have to end like this? Why did it have to end at all?

Trevas’ thumb stroked against her jaw and Katlyn clung onto him, afraid of the moment when she’d have to let him go. It would come sooner or later, but for now she could just enjoy Trevas. This one last time, and Katlyn told herself that he enjoyed it as well.

These last few days had been so confusing. Ever since Trevas had come to visit her in her temporary bedchambers, Katlyn’s world had been turned upside down. She hadn’t expected this from Trevas, she felt as though he himself hadn’t expected it either. It had been such a long time since Katlyn had felt any gentleness from him, any affection, any love. It was so strange, Katlyn didn’t know how to feel about it.

It must’ve been quite the sight for those gathered here. For a brief moment, Katlyn wondered what Lady Carlys Hastwyck thought of this. She hadn’t noticed her before, but the Bitch of Santrella should be somewhere near them, considering that she likely wanted to have a good view at the beheading. Katlyn wanted to claw the woman’s eyes out for what she had done to them, for being the reason this was all happening. Though it wasn’t only Lady Carlys’ fault.

The man that was holding her so close was just as much to blame, if not more. Trevas was the reason why Katlyn would lose her head. Why didn’t she care about that? Was her own life so worthless to her? It was so strange how dying didn’t frighten her anymore, how she almost didn’t care about it. The only thing that saddened her was how her relationship with her daughters had fallen apart.

They would be glad about their death, Trevas would be too. Whatever was happening now was irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. This was just a momentary weakness. Just like that night, Trevas would push her away and leave. Any moment now…

The moment never came, and Trevas’ still kept kissing her as though nothing else mattered. It made so many memories come back to Katlyn, which made her cling onto him even tighter if that was possible. It was so unfair that they’d lost this. They’d been so fucking good together, a perfect match. Had the Gods themselves been so envious of the love between them that they tore them apart?

It felt wrong when Trevas pulled away from her. Katlyn wanted to kiss him forever, as foolish as that was. Just kiss Trevas and forget about her troubles. Everything felt so right with his lips against hers, everything felt peaceful and wonderful when she was in his arms.

Instead of kissing her once more, Trevas pulled her into an embrace, his cheek pressing against hers. Katlyn wrapped her arms around him so tight as she closed her eyes. There was something she wanted to tell him, something she wanted him to know before they’d be torn apart forever. But Gods she couldn’t open her mouth and say it. She felt how warm and nice he felt against her, and Katlyn gripped the fabric of his clothes almost desperately holding onto him.

For so many years Katlyn had wanted to be rid of him. She wanted to finally live without having to deal with Trevas and his bullshit. Now when that moment was finally approaching, Katlyn dreaded it. She didn’t want to lose him. She wanted him, she needed him, and now it would all be over. Everything would be over soon and her and Trevas hadn’t had the chance to truly sort out their differences. It angered Katlyn to no end, but what could she do? All she did was hold onto him, and remember how strong their love once was.

“I should have taken you away.”

At first, Katlyn thought she’d imagined his voice. But his breath against her ear was so real, that it couldn’t have been imagined. His voice was so strange, it was like Katlyn was hearing him truly for the first time in years. Perhaps that was so.

Taken her away? Katlyn wondered what exactly he meant by that. That he should’ve saved her from this fate? Katlyn thought that was awfully dumb of him, there was nothing that could’ve been done about this. Right? Her fate was sealed the second the guards took her away to that tower. Yet, Katlyn pondered what would’ve happened if Trevas would’ve taken her away. At the same time, that made her wonder why he would do such a thing.

Was that regret in his voice? Trevas said he should’ve done it. Did he regret not doing it? It was all so confusing to Katlyn. The day he had come to her after the trial, Trevas had seemed glad to be finally get rid of her. Ever since they fell out in seemed that all Trevas wanted to do was to find a way to dispose of her. Was that not true anymore? Had it ever been?

“I love you.”

How could three words ruin Katlyn? She had worked so hard on keeping her composure, and Trevas had ruined all of that with three fucking words. When was the last time either of them had said that anyways? Gods, it seemed so long ago. Katlyn’s heart ached, and it felt like she couldn’t take in a full breath. She wasn’t sure if it made her feel better or worse, but the emotions she felt completely overwhelmed her.

Even if Trevas didn’t truly feel it, even if it was all just a cruel jape from him to mess with Katlyn and her emotions one last time, it made tears prickle at Katlyn’s eyes. Just to hear him say those words to her one last time, Gods it made her whole body hurt from the sheer emotions that rushed through her. She didn’t want to cry, she refused to, stubbornly blinking her eyes to make her vision less blurry.

The feeling to say something only grew now, but Katlyn was so confused and shocked that no words left her lips. She wanted to tell him that she loved him back, that she’d never stopped loving him and that she never would have. She wanted to tell him that they were one, forever and always, but still she couldn’t get the words past her lips. It felt like Katlyn spent hours trying to figure out how to talk, and then it was too late.

“Your Grace.”

That was the signal for Trevas to let go of her. Katlyn didn’t even notice at first, because his words were still ringing in her ears. Did he truly mean it? What if he did? Katlyn was so confused and overwhelmed that even when his arms left her all she could do was stare at him. Trevas didn’t look at her, though, which was expected. Every inch of her body wanted to take his face in her hands, make him look at her and tell him what she felt now. But Katlyn couldn’t do that, she was still not in control of her body with his words in her ears.

When Sir Marvyn touched her upper arm not ungently, Katlyn turned unwillingly and followed him. Her gaze lingered on Trevas before she finally turned her head away as well. She should’ve told him, Gods she should’ve told him what she felt. Katlyn should’ve, but her mind was still so dizzy from Trevas’ own words, and that goddamn kiss of his.

Nothing in Katlyn’s mind made sense. There were no tears in her eyes anymore, because the initial shock had worn off. Now she was just confused. Everything was wrong and so strange, and Katlyn didn’t understand how this was real. Suddenly, Katlyn was strangely aware of everything around her. The sound was overwhelming, the light, the smells, everything was assaulting her and she looked around desperately as her strength left her.

Not once did she fight back though. She heard the High Septon behind her raise his voice as he spoke about the Father being just, and the Mother having mercy. She heard it all and at the same time she heard nothing. The only true words in her mind, the only words that mattered were the ones Trevas had last said to her. The High Septon and his Gods didn’t matter and neither did the crowd with their curses. There was only one thing on her mind as she gently sank down on her knees in front of the wooden block.

Katlyn was too confused to be afraid. It was like her body was doing its actions on its own, while her mind stayed with Trevas. Katlyn didn’t really remember kneeling down, but she found herself with her eyes wandering absentmindedly around the crowd in front of her. They all hated her, or maybe they didn’t, but they had all come here to watch her die. That all was in common for them, and Katlyn fucking hated them all.

There was so much hatred she felt for everyone here. She hated everyone in the crowd for coming here and watching her die as though it was a mummer’s play set for their entertainment. She hated the King’s Justice, she hated Lady Carlys Hastwyck, she hated Sir Marvyn, she hated Sir Edgart, she hated herself and most of all she hated Trevas. Gods, Katlyn hated Trevas so much and at the same time she loved him more than anyone else in this world.

Absentmindedly, Katlyn listened to the High Septon, but instead of his prayer she heard her wedding vows. She heard them so clearly, she could almost smell the incense and candles in the Sept of the day of her wedding. It was as though she was there again, standing with Trevas as they became husband and wife, King and Queen.

“One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever…”

The High Septon’s voice was becoming slower and slower, and Katlyn felt a soft hand against her back as it gently pushed her forwards. She didn’t resist and leant down, laying her head down so that her neck fit into the small dip of the block that was almost comfortable. The words Katlyn wanted to say to Trevas were still on the tip of her tongue as she closed her eyes.

“I am his and he is mine from this day, until the end of my days.”

If it was her wedding vows or the prayer to the Gods, it didn’t matter, either way the High Septon had stopped speaking. The crowd had grown quiet as well. It was so silent that Katlyn wondered if she’d gone deaf, but still she heard Trevas’ whisper so clearly as though he was right there beside her.

The last words of Trevas calmed her, or perhaps that wasn’t the right way to describe that. They confused her to the point where she couldn’t feel fear or worry, or even think much about her death. Part of Katlyn wondered if perhaps Trevas would come and save her, take her away like he said he would. Yet his warm touch never came, the only thing Katlyn felt was the sharp and cool steel of the executioner’s sword.
 
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Desolate
Chapter LI
House Wynver
Forwards From Beneath
Wheldrake, Crownlands of Aedighar​

It was supposed to get easier for Elaria.

The questions Elaria had about Timos and his death had been answered. There was nothing left for her to have suspicions about. It was all supposed to be clear in her mind. The Queen had murdered Timos Hastwyck at his own wedding. It had happened in such a cruel way that Elaria could only imagine a mad person doing so. Initially when she had spoken to Lady Carlys, she would have never believed someone in her own family would have been capable of putting her through such pain.

Having it confirmed that Elaria was wrong about her judgment when it came to her family was difficult to wrap her head around. Even more so was it difficult to make sense of the motive that her mother had explained to her. She would never truly understand politics and the need to murder people in the name of what was right. One day she would be the Queen, and still, she felt too emotionally distressed to ever be a good ruler.

If the Realm was more important than love, why hadn’t her mother stopped to think about the consequences Timos’ death would have for her? Elaria felt miserable now. She wouldn’t be a good Queen for Aedighar. The motive was weak, and the more Elaria had thought about her mother’s words after leaving, the less sense they made. To her mother love was dangerous, life was unfair, but truly the only person who had made love dangerous and life unfair for Elaria was her mother. No one else.

In the very beginning, Elaria had blamed her father. Trevas was the one who had pushed Justan Bryne onto her. Soon enough she realized that would have never happened if her mother hadn’t killed Timos. None of it would have happened if Timos was still alive, but it was clear to Elaria that her family wanted her to suffer.

Those motives still did not add up in Elaria’s mind, but perhaps that was because she found herself mourning over her dead lover yet again. Her mind was clouded by those emotions she felt towards Timos and her mother that all her thoughts became irrational and silly. Her mother had confessed to her. She hadn’t denied murdering Timos. It should have been simple to Elaria to understand then. There was nothing more to it, but still, there was one problem. A murdered did not fit the description Elaria had for a mother.

It was nearly impossible for Elaria to forget those few days after Timos’ death when Katlyn had been there to comfort her. She remembered her mother’s fingers combing through her hair while her face had been hidden under blankets or down into pillows. Those comforting words were still soothing to her whenever she thought about it. Had it just been an attempt to not look guilty, or did her mother genuinely care about her?

New questions formed inside her head just as she had gotten her other questions answered. Elaria wanted to go back to her mother and ask if it truly was her who had murdered Timos. Who else would it have been? It was silly of her to think such things, but her mother didn’t seem like the person who would do such cruel things towards people. Her father, on the other hand, seemed like that kind of person.

From him there was the constant pressure of letting Justan between her legs so he could put a child in her, and Elaria hated every second of it. It was destroying her, and there was nothing enjoyable about it. Perhaps that was why she wasn’t with child yet. Every time she bled, Elaria was somewhat happy that she wasn’t with child purely because she didn’t want to be the mother of Justan’s children. Then she would panic because she knew she would have to keep going through the pain until she could prove to everyone that she was fertile.

Sometimes Elaria wished she had the courage to tell Justan to stop. To tell him and express her emotions to him so they could both be happier. It didn’t seem like he enjoyed those nights either.

Neither of them ever stopped though. They didn’t say anything to each other. If they had been strong enough, Elaria would have suggested going against her father’s words, but that was difficult when she couldn’t even look at him. Elaria wondered what it would have been like if Justan had been a better husband to her, or if their fathers weren’t breathing down their necks hoping that Elaria would give Justan a son. She also wondered if it would have been different if she had been a better wife to him.

None of that mattered anymore.

Elaria instead found herself consumed by her own emotions that she felt towards her mother. How she now was dead. She hadn’t been there at the execution, but still, she mourned over the news. If her mother had truly killed Timos, then there was no reason for Elaria to be upset. Then her mother deserved what had been given to her, but she didn’t believe it anymore. She couldn’t believe that her mother had done something so vile.

Most of what Elaria felt was regret over the things she had said to her mother.

There was no way she would apologize for the words she had said. Her mother was dead, gone and taken away from her and everyone else. No matter what the truth was, Elaria was saddened by the thought of her being gone.

It felt even worse when Elaria realized that she had no one to talk to. She couldn’t leave her room, or she wasn’t allowed to. After visiting her mother, Elaria hadn’t left her room. She was afraid she would run into Lady Carlys again, or her father. It was terribly lonely for her, and it was only then that she started wondering if she could have been comforted by Justan. Perhaps she should have tried speaking to him, but just the thought of it made her uncomfortable. It wasn’t worth trying.

Elaria had tried once before to feel comforted by him or to comfort him. She had stood behind him with her arms wrapped around his body, and all it had done was make her feel incredibly out of place. They didn’t belong together. There was no love between them, and Elaria had no hope for them. Not even a child could bring them closer together. Their child wouldn’t be made through love, how could she love that child then?

Wine had never been a thing Elaria had enjoyed, but now when the sun was slowly setting, she sat there in a chair with a cup filled to the brim with the red liquid. She would take slow sips of it, letting the wine settle in her blood before she took the next sip. The taste of it lingered on her lips, mixing with the salty taste of her tears that were moving down her flushed cheeks. How long had she been crying? Hours? Days?

How many days had passed since the execution?

Elaria felt so alone and lost as she sat there with her eyes locked on the slight wine that had spilled onto the table. How many cups had she had? Two? Three? Elaria had lost count of that as well. Everything was so cloudy, and it seemed like everything was crumbling in front of her. The door opened then, and she looked up at the man who was supposed to be her husband. Elaria stood up, wiping her tears away as she tried to hide the fact that she had been crying. It was a little more difficult to hide the fact that she had been drinking though.

“Justan,” Elaria mumbled as she brushed her hair out of her face.
 
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Would it ever get better?

For the months that they’d been married, never had they been happy. Never had Justan looked over at Elaria and been proud to marry her, seen her as his beautiful wife, or loved her. He doubted that Elaria had any warm feeling towards him either. They were just stuck together, going through the motions together, there was nothing between them.

With each day, Justan felt emptier and emptier. He remembered what he used to be like before the wedding. Justan had been so happy, so full of life. Now it was like all of his joy had evaporated, taken away from him by his Lord father and by the King. The days became a blur to him, and Justan couldn’t remember the last solid conversation he’d had with anyone.

Would they just accept fate? Would it ever become easier for Justan to be with Elaria? Honestly, Justan doubted that. He felt like this hell he was living in would never end. They were forced to be together, forced to lay together and they’d have to do it for years. Neither of them were strong enough, bold enough to tell no to their parents. That meant that they’d just accept what was given to them, and deal with it until they’d finally die.

Death was something Justan had been wondering about too much lately. It kept popping into his mind unintentionally. Little things, like whether or not he’d survive the fall from their bedchamber window. He didn’t actively think about it, and he always tried to push those thoughts away because they seemed so dramatic. Justan didn’t want to die. Then again, could he die if he wasn’t truly living anyways? Everyone would be a lot happier without him, especially Elaria.

No, Justan didn’t want to think about such things. It wasn’t right. He tried to think about happier thoughts. The only truly happy memories he could think of were with his dear sister. Sarisa was the only person he loved, the only person that had made him happy. It was a sudden realisation to him that Sarisa was all that Justan had. It shocked him then and it shocked him now.

How Justan wished that Sarisa was with him. He didn’t have anyone to talk with. Whenever he spoke to his mother, Lady Dorthy Bryne find some way to escape the conversation. Not like they’d ever been close. Speaking to his father was even worse, because no matter how the conversation began, Lord Baldor would find a way to twist it around to focus on Justan and Elaria. It was so frustrating that eventually Justan just stopped trying altogether.

It seemed like nobody liked him in Wheldrake. Justan didn’t try to gain their love anymore, there was no point. Everything was just upside down, and he started to not even recognise himself. He was always rather emotional and empathic, but now it felt like he had lost those traits as well. Not once during the trial of Queen Katlyn had he felt bad, or felt anything really. Even when he watched her head get cut off, Justan didn’t even flinch. The sight of blood had bothered him once, now, just like everything else, it just made him feel nothing.

It was a pathetic existence. Being King didn’t excite him, it didn’t fear him. I was just something that he’d have to deal with once the time would come. He didn’t care if he’d make a good King. Justan didn’t care if the people would love him or hate him. That didn’t bother him anymore.

The only person that made Justan feel something was Elaria. Sadly the only things he felt was utter guilt and sadness. That wasn’t exactly great, but at least he felt something then. That was important, that meant that he must still be alive. That meant that he wasn’t absolutely lost just yet.

Whenever Justan saw Elaria, all he could see was the pain that he was inflicting on her. It was a strange situation they both were in, no doubt about that. He wasn’t sure if Elaria knew that he didn’t like any of it, and he didn’t really want to talk about it anyways. It was vile and Justan tried to lock those thoughts and memories away in his head.

Part of Justan wanted to just stay away from Elaria as much as he could. That’s what he did, and he only really went to their room in the evening. Sometimes Justan tried to stay out until he thought Elaria would be asleep. Now with the mess that the trial had left Wheldrake in, that was easier to do than ever and nobody gave Justan strange looks for wandering around late at night.

While father insisted that Justan would be present for the trial and execution, he was strictly told not to tell Elaria a single thing. That was easy to do. They weren’t exactly the most chatty people, so Justan had never found himself in a situation where he’d have to lie to Elaria about what was going on. He appreciated that quite a lot. He hated lying, and he was quite bad at it to boot. At least now that it was all over, Elaria knew about her mother’s death which obviously would’ve been very hard to hide from her.

It was another late night now that Justan made his way back to their room. He thought Elaria would be asleep, that was what he hoped. However, when he walked inside, Elaria was still awake. Immediately, Justan’s eyes drifted to the cup of wine in front of her. He remembered that night that wine had soaked his clothes and hair, but he tried to forget.

When he walked inside, Elaria stood up and wiped at her eyes before saying his name. If she thought that he wouldn’t notice, then she must be very drunk. Elaria looked like a mess. If Justan were a good husband, he’d walk over and hug her, try to calm her down and talk to her.

Instead, Justan closed the door behind him as his eyes looked over Elaria, “are you drunk?”
 
“Are you drunk?”

At Justan’s question, Elaria scoffed as she knitted her eyebrows together into a frown. Was it that obvious? She thought it would be difficult to notice, but perhaps it wasn’t. There had been no time for her to look at herself in the mirror and make herself look less like a mess, but she tried her best as she stood there to appear normal. Elaria failed miserably at that. As soon as she took a step away from the table, she felt how weak her legs felt like she would fall over since she couldn’t seem to find her balance.

Quickly Elaria grabbed onto the table to support herself. She imagined that she would look incredibly foolish if she attempted to walk over to their bed.

“No, I’m not drunk,” Elaria said as her gaze lingered on Justan.

"Elaria..."

Elaria’s gaze followed Justan as he walked over to the table. He was looking at her cup and the pitcher that stood close by it. The pitcher was probably soon empty as she could recall refilling her cup quite a lot even if she had no clue as to how many cups she had actually had. Either way that didn’t matter. Why would he care? They had never cared about each other, and even if she was drunk, it wasn’t his responsibility. It had never been.

Those vows they had said to each other on their wedding day didn’t matter. Justan couldn’t protect her, and Elaria would never love him. They were both miserable, and she felt so lost without the answers she wanted from her mother that wine seemed like such a good idea to her.

“I’m not drunk, Justan.”

"And I'm not blind, Elaria."

There was another scoff then as her gaze followed the movements of his hands while he poured himself a cup of wine. Elaria didn’t know what came over her as she took a step closer to him and the pitcher. It felt like they were back to that night where she had poured wine over his head as she reached to take his wrist. The wine was messing with her thoughts and actions. She felt angry with him for being a shitty husband, angry that he was commenting on her being drunk only to pour himself some wine.

Elaria was also upset, and that mix of anger and sadness wasn’t good for her when she was heavily influenced by the amount of wine she had in her body. Gods, she was stupid. Usually, she would never talk to Justan, and never would she actually touch him, and now she was holding his wrist to keep him away from pouring himself some wine. It had caused some wine to spill out on the table, but Elaria didn’t care.

“I told you I’m not drunk,” she muttered.

"Elaria, you're embarrassing yourself."

“Am I? How am I embarrassing myself?”

"Well, you're drunk first of all. It doesn't really suit you."

It was clear that Elaria was offended by his words as her gaze grew harsher. How could she ever love a guy like Justan? She didn’t understand what her parents had thought when they thought Justan would be good for her. He wasn’t. They would never work out, and it made her furious. Her mother’s words kept coming back to her how this was better for Aedighar, and it confused her. Elaria couldn’t see how she and Justan would ever be good for Aedighar when they weren’t good for each other.

“Why do you care what suits me? Why do you care if I’m drunk or not?” Elaria asked as she pulled her hand away from his wrist.

Justan shrugged, "I suppose I don't. Or I shouldn't."

“You shouldn’t. I don’t care if I’m embarrassing myself, and neither should you.”

In reality, Elaria did care. She had always been kind and quiet, not the person to speak up about most things. It would embarrass her in the morning once she would wake up with a headache to remind herself of the mess she had been the day before. It wasn’t like her to talk to Justan like that. It wasn’t like her to talk to him at all. Still, she stood there feeling so upset with everything, letting all her emotions cloud her mind.

"Alright, fine. Then keep on embarrassing yourself."

“You’re so pathetic.”

"Oh?"

Elaria felt like screaming, but what good would that do? Justan would do anything, and she didn’t understand why she was even expecting him to do anything. For a second maybe she had wondered if he would step up and be a good husband and care for his wife, but she didn’t want that, and it didn’t seem like Justan was capable of doing so either. If she ever cried, he wouldn’t be there for her, but though she didn’t want it, she wondered what it would have been like if Justan was more comforting.

Out of the anger, she felt she once again found herself ripping Justan’s cup out of his hand, throwing it somewhere behind her to let the wine spill over themselves and the floor. The sound of the cup hitting the floor rang throughout the whole room, breaking the slight silence that had fallen between them.

“You’re the worst,” Elaria snapped at him.
 
His wife could tell him a thousand times that she wasn’t drunk, but Justan wasn’t exactly an idiot. Perhaps he wasn’t that smart, but he had two eyes that could see how flushed Elaria looked, how glassy her eyes were. Add to that the slight sour smell of wine that radiated from her, and Justan was pretty fucking sure that Elaria was very much drunk. The nearly empty pitcher didn’t really help her either.

If Elaria was drunk, then Justan could be as well. It would only be fair. Lately, Justan had taken a liking to wine, ale, literally anything that would dull his mind. It didn’t make him feel better, not really. But Justan liked the dizzy feeling her got from alcohol and how he’d feel so numb when drinking it.

While Justan was pouring himself a cup of wine, Elaria’s hand gripped onto his wrist, causing Justan to spill some of the liquid over his arm and the table. Wonderful. Could he not even enjoy a cup of wine anymore? Justan wasn’t really angry about it, he never got angry these days. Anger took so much effort. He didn’t bother with that.

“I told you I’m not drunk.”

"Elaria, you're embarrassing yourself,” Justan rolled his eyes at Elaria’s slightly slurring voice.

It almost made him uncomfortable to see her like this. Justan wanted to reach out and help Elaria, but he didn’t know how. There was nothing he could do, and it made him feel horrible. But the feelings faded quickly, and Justan lost the will to speak about this. He didn’t have to care for Elaria, why should he? They weren’t good to each other, that would never change and he shouldn’t even attempt to do anything about it.

“Am I? How am I embarrassing myself?”

"Well, you're drunk first of all. It doesn't really suit you."

“Why do you care what suits me? Why do you care if I’m drunk or not?”

Justan thought about it. Did he truly care? He knew that Elaria was this upset likely about her mother’s death, but he had a feeling it probably stemmed from him as well. Her sadness always would be because of him, in Justan’s mind. He shouldn’t care about her being drunk or not. In a way, Justan didn’t even care. If Elaria wanted to heal herself with wine, then so be it. Justan was guilty of doing it as well. It would be awfully hypocritical of him to shame her for this. It wasn’t his business anyways.

"I suppose I don't. Or I shouldn't."

“You shouldn’t. I don’t care if I’m embarrassing myself, and neither should you.”

"Alright, fine. Then keep on embarrassing yourself."

It was almost surprising to Justan that they were talking. But it was just the wine, nothing else. It was making Elaria unreasonable, making her want to talk to Justan. Or maybe not want to talk to him, but compel her to talk to him. That sounded more appropriate.

“You’re so pathetic.”

Of course. Justan knew that. He was pathetic, he was weak and he was a coward. Justan was a shitty man, a shitty husband and Elaria deserved so much better than him. But she was stuck with him and his pathetic ways, whether or not she liked it wasn’t really relevant.

"Oh?"

Her words didn’t bother Justan, neither did it bother him when Elaria ripped the cup out of his hands and threw it behind her. The wine spilled again, and Justan sighed as he leant back in the chair. Really, he was just disappointed about the wasted wine. He had really wanted to drink the night away.

“You’re the worst.”

Justan nodded, “thank you, I wasn’t aware of that.”

"Well, you are now,” Elaria scoffed.

“I’m so lucky to have a wife as loving as you.”

There was no way that Justan could control the words that left his lips. He wasn’t sure why he was speaking to Elaria, he could just go and lay down and try to sleep. Instead, just like a night so many weeks ago, Justan found himself talking to Elaria and being unable to stop. The words that left him were harsh, inappropriate, but he couldn’t help himself. He was just so sad, miserable, pathetic, he couldn’t control it.

"Oh, I am so sorry Justan. If only I had a caring and kind husband."

A sad smile rested on his lips then as he looked down at his hands, nodding a little. If only she had Timos Hastwyck. Then Elaria would be happy. With him, she’d never be. They weren’t meant to be, Justan was just a replacement and nothing else.

“Yes, if only.”

With that, Elaria turned around and walked towards the balcony. Justan watched her closely, as he tried to figure out what the hell was going on in his mind. He wanted to be nice to Elaria, to care for her, to cherish her, but she just didn’t let him do that. At the same time, it seemed like Elaria wanted him to do that. Like she craved to be held and to be cared for. But how could Justan do that if she kept distancing herself? And how could Justan help her if he was the one hurting her so badly?

They just had no happy ending, it was so painfully obvious to Justan. He could never see them fall in love, he couldn’t even see them having children. Their attempts were so unfortunate up until now, that Justan had figured that one of them must be infertile. There was no other way, because they’d been trying that was for sure. As much as the both hated every second of it, they tried and tried again. Still, there was no child in Elaria’s lap.

Something in Justan’s mind made him stand up and follow Elaria. He slowly closed the distance between them as he came to stand a few steps behind her. Her name left his lips softly, as he waited for any sign tha Elaria wanted him to leave.

"I have lost everyone that once cared about me."

Elaria’s voice was so quiet that Justan barely heard it. He watched her for a while as he slowly took in her words. That was true, wasn’t it? She’d lost Timos, she’d lost her mother. It was obvious to Justan that her father didn’t really give a shit about her, considering that he was allowing this to happen to her. Justan had never even seen Elaria with Ashara, so he doubted her sister was very interested in her either. After her mother’s death, Elaria only had Justan by her side, which she obviously wasn’t very happy about and he couldn’t really blame her.

Carefully, Justan took another step towards her as his hand raised and carefully rested against her shoulder. He shouldn’t touch her, he knew he shouldn’t, but yet here they were. “Elaria,” Justan said again, quietly as he tried to think of words to say, but there were none. What in the world could he say to make it better? There was nothing, and Justan knew that. It almost calmed him down in a strange way.

The only thing that came to mind was so foolish, so stupid that Justan almost couldn’t bear saying it. Elaria would just get angry at him for his failed attempts at comforting her. It was obvious to him, but still he felt the need to say it.

“I’m so sorry, Elaria.”
 
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