Disclaimer: Game of Thrones is D&D's property, after being GRRM's property. Or else, Lancel would be the happiest kid in Westeros, should it be mine.
Summary: Mending took time and healing took trust. The thing was, Lancel didn't love nor trusted himself.
Author's note: A huge thank you to Assassin Master Ezio 91 who helped in making the chapter guide and in brainstorming with me !
Author's note 2: English isn't my first language, it's french. If you see any mistake or issue with the language, feel free to tell me so that I can improve.
WARNING! THIS FANFICTION CONTAINS HEAVY THEMES SUCH AS DEATH, BULLYING, DEPRESSION, ABUSE ETC. IF YOU ARE ILL-AT-EASE WITH THOSE SUBJECTS, PLEASE FEEL FREE TO CLICK ON THE RED CROSS ON THE RIGHT TOP OF THE SCREEN.
Broken Things
Chapter 10
It sounded ungrateful he knew. But Lancel loathed being visited at the hospital by the family. He hated that because he was seen in a state he didn't want to be seen in. And most of the family members came out of duty. To make themselves feel better. We didn't know he was so unwell, yes we saw him, he looked better, we'll be there for him now. He could hear them and the hypocrisy had a bitter taste in his mouth. Joffrey came. Lancel knew it was only so he could gloat about being the bigger person, to show he was so much better but inside, it was to have a good laugh at him. Most of his family came just because it was expected of them by society, not because they genuinely cared. The nurses didn't understand when he wrote he didn't want to see anybody and they assumed it was just his depression speaking. Even mute, his words didn't matter and were left deaf.
"Talk about making me feel important and visible..."
Tommen and Myrcella had come, Myrcella clearly upset.
"I'm so sorry... I haven't seen anything... I should have been there for you..."
You already were, he had written to her. More than most. Tyrek had come back to him. They had argued before he went to live with his mother's family, following his father's death. They hadn't spoken much. But Lancel knew they were friends again. He spent his days quietly, watching the landscape change through time. He was offered to draw, to create things. He cast it aside. He didn't feel like it.
"He doesn't make any effort." He heard a nurse say
He didn't even bother curing her in his head. Most people wouldn't understand, he had gotten it by now.
"Lancel?" He heard a faint voice calling him
He turned his head, seeing his new visitor. And when he saw who it was, when he saw her state, he felt an ache in himself, a twist in his guts. Amerei was standing there, clearly tired as she had just gotten back from her trip, pale, her eyes watery. In her hand, the letter he had left for her, maybe the hardest he had to write for some reason. She ran to him and embrace him so tight it was hard to breathe. He had been so surprised he had only managed to open his arms so she wouldn't hurt herself. After some hesitation, he hugged her back. He didn't notice his father coming back, his eyes and expression at the sight of him, a woman in his arms, nor did he see the small smirk he had as he left, thinking it'dbe a good idea to have another coffee, from the vending machine that was at the opposite wing. Amerei didn't say a word. She just remained in his arms, sobbing quietly, holding on to him, afraid to let him slip away as if he'd vanish if the contact was broken. He felt an incredible guilt building in him. He had felt it with his immediate family, so why was it stronger with Amerei? He felt so awkward, not knowing how to act, apart from holding her. After a while, she calmed down and despite her tears, she smiled at him warmly.
"I'm sorry. I'm sure you've had your share already. No more tears from me, I promise." She swore
"I don't mind." He wrote
She started to speak, telling him about the field trip they had, the laughs, anything but what he had tried to do. He was grateful. And Amerei was clever enough to understand. She actually was the only one to understand him almost fully, even his own father didn't manage. She showed him the pictures, offered him the keychain she had brought back for him, she asked if he liked the food from the clinic, if the nurses were hot young chicks or complete MILF. Or handsome dudes, she didn't know the way he prefered. She noticed the drawing gear he had been given. She asked about his skills, he showed her his talent with a quick doodle she adored and insisted on keeping, autographed, much to his amusement.
"Say, if I pay you or offer you something, would you mind doing a commission for me?"
"For you, it's free."
He showed her some tricks for drawing cartoonish characters, like the Simpson family members. She was sitting on is bed, near him, he could feel her warmth, it was soothing. He actually felt home, with a friend visiting, just chilling away. Until he noticed the ecchymoses she had on her arms. Old ones, new ones, painfully looking ones. He had stared enough for her to notice his gaze upon it.
"I told you, I'm just really, really clumsy!"
He just looked at her and she could see, in his emerald eyes, some kind of sadness. He wanted to believe her, he couldn't and he wanted to help, but he felt powerless. She sighed. It was only fair, she thought. How could she be mad at him for hiding his depression and thoughts to her while she wouldn't open up to him?
"Lancel, I... I'm sorry. I haven't been entirely honest with you. Not for lack of trust. Because I do trust you. It was out of fear. I know you wouldn't spill my secrets one way or another but walls have ears... I'm sorry I lied to you. I'm not clumsy. I..."
Her eyes were looking away, she was struggling with her words.
"Are you beaten by your parents?" He wrote, his hand unassured
"Not by them, but close enough."
His eyes widened, shocked and he was about to write when she begged, with a fear in her voice that broke his heart:
"Please, don't make me say more..."
He just grabbed her hand and nodded. She made him promise he wouldn't spill the beans, he did. Not that he could speak anyway. He resumed drawing for her, feeling her easing herself as she watched.
Kevan could only smile as he returned, seeing them so close, seeing Lancel at ease, in peace, actually smiling, looking like the young man he used to be, for the first time since Willem had passed away. He discreetly took a picture. He knew his son would immediately want to draw that once his eyes would be set upon it.
To Be Continued