He had stood in the room as the healers had tried their best to bring his father back. His eyes had been cold and he had no sadness in his heart. He felt no grief in his father's passing and hadn't shed a tear.
For a week, now, he had sat religiously at his mother's side. He would cradle her head when it came time for her to drink- the only thing she could keep on her stomach was water in broth. That was no way to live and Tarrlok knew it. He held her hand as she spoke in rambles- telling stories he had heart thousands of times and had memorized by heart.
But even as she repeated the same story for the third time in the same day- he listened with earnest. he heard and cherished every word that came from her mouth.
Her fragile hand gripped his as best as she could. Tarrlok smoothed his hand over those bony thin fingers- caressing that skin that was so frail that it bruised with just a feathering touch.
He cried as she moaned in pain, rolling her head to one side then the other crying out because it just hurt that much. There was nothing he could do for her. He had never felt so completely useless.
When her moans quieted and her face took on a relaxed look- panic shot through Tarrlok's entire body. She looked up at her son- her only living child and smiled. Her hand came up to brush the tear that he didn't realize had left his eyes. "Don't cry, son."
Tarrlok tried to steel his voice but it didn't work. "Aama…"
She closed her eyes. "I'll see Noatak soon…." Her words faded to just a whisper. Her hand went limp in his. Tarrlok's eyes widened as he called to her again. Clinging to her hand he picked her head up- that last breath out escaped her in a sigh as he pulled her into a hug. "Aama!"
She wouldn't answer her youngest child's call ever again. But he would never stop calling to her and looking to her when he was in need.