Title: Nor One Keep Warm Alone
Author: Tiamat's Child
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: The Deryni Novels, The Histories of King Kelson
Pairing: Denis Arilan/Thomas Cardiel, very, very lightly implied.
Summary: Arilan cannot afford grief, but it always comes anyway.
Disclaimers: The characters, and political structures, and places belong to Katherine Kurtz, not to me.
Notes: Written for the Contralemontre 'This is not the worst moment of my life' challenge in 60 minutes. Contains spoilers for The Quest for Saint Chamber and for Deryni Checkmate. I have been convinced since I was nine that Denis Arilan is in love with Thomas Cardiel (and that Thomas returns his affections, though I doubt they figure the whole thing out very quickly), and they do make a lovely pair of confidantes, even if we don't get to see them interacting as much in the later novels.
Nor One Keep Warm Alone
This is not the worst moment of his life. That particular honor will always belong to the instant when he fully understood that he would have to watch his best friend die at the stake. Nothing can quite touch the horror of that realization.
But this moment is certainly very close to catching up.
Arilan can feel that all the reserves of duty and ruthlessness and necessity that he has clung to since he was told of Kelson's death three days ago are gone. He has depleted them utterly. Now he has nothing left to hold to but his own capacity for grief, and he knows that that in itself is not going to help him.
He still has things he has to do. He still has to give Nigel the ability to use the potential within his line to protect the kingdom. He has to keep up his constant balance between what is good for his people and what is good for his country. He must, he simply must, be the practical, ruthless one who says the cruel things that need to be said. No one else will be able to. He must.
But he is exhausted, and his body and mind are both shaking, and he has not even let himself cry for the King he loved so much, not until this moment. There is no room for all the things he must be, not now. There is only himself, and he is still young to be what he is, and now he is grieving.
Still, the Council chamber is not the best place for any of this, and he does not want to stay here. He hates the thought of having to listen to yet more discussion of what he should do next, of how he should use the death of a man he watched grow up from boyhood to the advantage of this Council. So he leaves, though he does not know where he finds the energy to do so. From sheer contrary stubbornness most likely.
From the Council's chambers, to Saint Hillary's, and he had rather expected to find himself alone in the sanctuary, but he is not. Thomas kneels at the rail, his head bowed in prayer. Arilan wouldn't want to intrude or interrupt for the world, but Thomas exudes a kind of peace and sanity that he needs desperately right now, so he goes to sit in the back of the choir, watching Thomas through the tears that blur his vision.
He's never cried out loud. He only ever cries in silence, and he is grateful for that now. God, his heart aches. He's lonely, and afraid, and he knows without a doubt that he's never really going to get used to Nigel being king instead of Kelson (he thought the same thing about Kelson, when Brion died, but that doesn't occur to him).
He wants just to sit here, to watch Thomas unobserved, and feel comforted for knowing that there are people like him in this world. Thomas is good at giving comfort and joy in a way that Arilan is not. He's never been good at reaching to people the way Thomas can. He knows how to take of someone when there is something truly wrong with them, but he never knows, when people are simply grieving, who he should go to, or if he should, or what he should do if he does. Thomas always seems to do it right.
Arilan doesn't. Because he has to be practical, and he has to be ruthless, and he has to be the one who's willing to say terrible things so that the right course will be taken. What Thomas is is something rather different, and Arilan admires that capacity and calling in him.
"Denis?" He's drifted, in his thoughts, and is surprised when Thomas turns and calls to him.
"Thomas? How - "
"I'm not completely unperceptive." Thomas stands and walks back toward him. "I thought you'd use the portal here, tonight."
Arilan takes a shaky breath, and tries to still his trembling. Thomas knows him too well, and he is too open and hurt right now, and he loves Thomas just a little too much, sometimes.
"Denis? Are you all right?"
He can't answer, but he isn't, and Thomas can see that, he's sure. Arilan sits as still as he can force himself to be as his friend's arm slides about his shoulder in a sideways hug. He leans into the solid warmth of Thomas's body, the usual surge of love and safety loosening the pained rigidity of his shoulders and back.
"After all that…" It's the only thing he can really think to say to start off with. His voice is choked and soft, but he knows that Thomas can understand his words just fine. "I used to - I used to pretend he was my younger brother. That was years ago, when I wasn't much older than him and Dughal -"
His voice cracks and he turns his head into the warm dip where his shoulder and Thomas' meet. Thomas pulls him a little closer, and they sit like that for a while, tucked together on the choir bench. Thomas doesn't say anything, he is simply there, and while he doesn't cry (he cried himself out on the way to Rhemuth, Arilan noticed), Arilan knows that he understands why Arilan does.
"Thank you," Arilan finally whispers, and Thomas squeezes his shoulder in response.
"You don't need to be alone so much. I do love you enough to listen."
Arilan can feel his breath catch, and something an awful lot like hope surge briefly upward. It's rather sad, really, he tells himself. You'd think Thomas didn't tell him something like that nearly every time they talk.
"I know."
They should go to bed, both of them, because tomorrow is going to be crowded and chaotic and they will both have far too much to do. But neither of them makes a move to leave.
They're still on the bench long, long after midnight.