The plot for this fic was filched from the wonderful Lea. This chapter was betaed by Quatre-Sama, who deserves a medal of somesort.
Cythera was quite sure that there had never been silence like this before. It was a silence that seemed to reach inside every one of them, so that even the idea of words seemed utterly ridiculous.
Movement, too, appeared an insensible notion. Her eyes flickered to settle on Alanna, who was fixated on either her boots or her hands, the latter clasped together in a prayerful manner. She had seen Alanna before when her friends were in danger. Then, the Lioness was everywhere at once, trying to fix things, trying to help. This time, however, Alanna had managed a rueful smile and muttered that nobody needed her getting in the way.
Maybe it was because it mattered so much more this time.
Maybe it was because it was Jonathan.
Alanna glanced up, catching Cythera's gaze, and Cythera looked away again quickly. It was too painful to maintain eye-contact right now.
For want of a better thing to do, she rose, crossing to the window. She was well-practised in the art of feeling useless, being as she was so often in the company of more intelligent, braver and more powerful people. Even so, she couldn't help wishing there was something that she could do, some way that she could make this easier on everybody.
She felt a hand on her arm and turned to see Sacherell. Her two boys were much graver this last visit. Even before the accident, Douglass had barely cracked a single joke. Not even the arrival of their year mate Geoffrey had lifted their spirits. Something was dreadfully amiss, but she couldn't put her finger on it.
Sacherell managed a sort of smile, mouthing, "Are you all right?"
Cythera nodded, watching Douglass claim Sacherell once more, with an apologetic look her way. The two usually took care not to touch each other too much in public, but this was an exception. She didn't blame them. She felt bereft standing there on her own, and wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she knew what was happening.
The door opened to admit Gary. He looked so much older than he had earlier that very morning, with a greying complexion and troubled eyes.
Everybody looked up at him with undisguised, desperate hope on their faces. Cythera almost couldn't bear it.
"It won't be long now," he said quietly. "Thayet and the children are saying their goodbyes at the moment."
Alanna shut her eyes, turning away from the room and putting her head in her hands.
Before Cythera was aware of Gary moving, he had appeared at her side, wrapping his arms around her waist, as though he were trying to meld their bodies together. She bit her lip, leaning her head back against his shoulder.
"Was it very bad?" she asked quietly, more breathing the words than saying them.
She felt him nod, felt his arms tighten, even felt him swallow. "He was so – so helpless, Cyth. I couldn't – I can't bear it. It's just – for all the ways for him to, to, well..."
He trailed off, his voice failing him, but Cythera understood. Of all the ways for Jonathan to die, this appeared to be the most unjust. Jon was the type of king – the type of person, really – who had seemed able to get through anything. If he had to die at all, Cythera thought it would be most fitting for him to die in battle, fighting for the country he loved so much. Not whilst out riding.
His death would mirror his father's in an almost painful manner, she reflected. They had thought they'd been lucky to find Jonathan still alive, but the fall had damaged him even beyond Duke Baird's repair. Still they might have tried, had Jonathan not shaken his head and bidden the healers to take their leave.
Cythera's thoughts had preoccupied her so much that she had not noticed the door opening once more until Gary stiffened, straightening up.
Thayet stood in the doorway, ghostly white save for her eyes, which looked as though they had been scrubbed raw.
She gulped, tears streaming freely down her face. She snatched up a handful of her hair, convulsing into sobs every time she tried to speak. Cythera bit her lip, watching helplessly as Thayet swayed on her feet.
"He's gone. He's dead."
Cythera slid her arms around Gary, feeling him tremble.
And all at once, everybody burst into action, hovering around Thayet, offering words of comfort that sounded much better than anything Cythera could think of. Alanna had stormed out, but that was only to be expected.
"Can we leave?" Gary asked urgently, tugging at Cythera.
Cythera took a look at the crowd around Thayet, hesitating between her duties to the Crown, her friend and her husband. Finally deciding that Gary's need was greater (Thayet after all had several others to offer their condolences), she nodded and allowed him to lead her out of the room, unaware that Thayet's eyes followed her all the way.
Cythera closed the bedroom door behind her. She was sure that she had done the right thing by leaving. Gary would have almost certainly left even if she hadn't, and he clearly needed company at a moment like this.
"What was it like?" she asked gently, watching him sink down onto the bed.
He held his arms out to her. "Come over here," he requested.
Cythera hesitated for a moment and then crossed the room. He pulled her onto his lap, his arms tight around her, brushing the hair from her face with one hand. After it became very apparent that he had no intention of answering her question, she tried, "At least you got to say goodbye."
Gary stiffened at that and she bit her lip, wondering how she was going so horribly wrong. He made a forcible effort to relax, but his eyes were pained even as he leaned forward to kiss her.
She pushed him away, determined to make him talk about this, and hoping that it would make him feel better about it. "Gary..."
He shook his head. "Please, Cythera. I - can't."
This time as he kissed her, she let him. She let his hands work their way around to her ties and when he pulled away, a question in his eyes, she simply nodded, feeling slightly sick to her stomach as he continued.
Perhaps he would be more open to talking tomorrow.