Standard Disclaimer I No Owns zie Suikoden III, Wyatt, Chris, et. Al, don't bother suing me, I have thirty bucks to my name. Seriously. I'm broke. You wouldn't take a starving college student's lunch money, would you?
I think, technically, by game canon, that Anna died after Wyatt "went missing", buuuuttt bah. fidget, looks either way The story worked better this way.
I told this story it was going to be short. A vignette. SHORT DAMNIT!! ONE CHAPTER!!
But it didn't listen. .
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"There's nothing more I can do; I've never seen anything like this, and can't even begin to guess how to treat the symptoms, much less the illness itself. I'm sorry." The doctor was watching the floor sideways, having a hard time looking straight at Wyatt, sitting next to his wife's bedside holding her limp hand.
"It's alright. I understand. Thank you for all of your help." The words came out flat, dead and futile; his attention was entirely on Anna's sleeping face, the light hair that fell in a halo around her head on the pillow, the occasional twitch or murmur that betrayed some dream in her coma. Of course the doctor couldn't identify the illness; it wasn't a disease but a poison, a poison Wyatt only recognized by dim chance from decades ago.
"I'll stay in the household for observation, and in case some divine revelation strikes, but I can't lie and tell you there's any hope; the most we can do is try to keep her as comfortable as possible and be there if she wakes up before the end."
Wyatt nodded numbly, gently rubbing the palm of her hand with one thumb; there was no response, not even a reflex in her hand to close. The last six years with her seemed to eclipse all the rest of his almost seventy; he'd always steeled himself for the day that time would catch up to her and his eternity would go on, but he'd never dreamed it would be this soon. Forty years since they'd fought Harmonia, another ten good years on the treaty, and already they were breaking it - and not even by striking at him directly, but at someone innocent of the fight, unaware of the reason why. Not even the courtesy to put a bullet in his back in a dark alleyway and leave his family out of it. "Anna, I'm sorry..."
The doctor laid a consoling hand on his shoulder. "You did all you could; it's not your fault."
He nodded dumbly. He hadn't done all he could - if he'd just been thinking, paying attention that they were still after him, maybe he could've caught the assassin, maybe he could've forced an antidote out of them, done something to keep them away from her. Maybe she wouldn't have had to suffer like this for what he'd done so long ago.
The door creaked open; Wyatt and the doctor looked up, then had to scan down the door to a little figure in a lacy grey dress, nibbling at her own hand, looking up at them with blue eyes pleading for an answer.
"It's OK Chris; your mother's going to be alright. She's just sick and needs to rest. Go back to bed now, okay sweetie?" He gave her the kind of pained smile that always accompanied the nice parental lies told to spare a child. Chris lowered her head, looking up at him over her hands almost disbelieving, then padded out, letting the door shut behind her.
"Sir Wyatt? I'll be in my room if you need anything else tonight." The doctor left as quietly as a ghost, gently closing the door behind him, leaving him alone with Anna. He held her hand up to his face, waiting; he didn't have much hope that she'd wake up, but he didn't want to move from her side, just in case, even as he caught himself nodding off for a few brief seconds; he shook it off, straightened in the chair, and remained, holding her hand.
He woke up with a start, slumped over the side of the bed; he hadn't even realized when he'd fallen asleep. His hand was still wrapped around Anna's, and it was still dark outside, the stars clear and bright. It must've only been a few hours, at most, but even those few hours were more than he wanted to lose - someone with forever praying for time to stop. He resumed his silent vigil; she seemed almost too still….
She wasn't breathing. He held a hand on her chest, waiting for some sign of movement, checked her pulse in her wrist, held a hand to her neck looking for some flutter of a heartbeat - nothing.
Part of him broke, quietly, as he stood up and numbly walked out to get the doctor down the hall; there wasn't anything the doctor could do, it was nothing more than a formality. She was gone.
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Please please forgive me
But I won't be home again
Maybe someday you'll look up
And barely conscious you'll say to noone
Isn't something missing?
It was only an hour or two to sunrise when he left the room, leaving the doctor to contact the undertaker and arrange for her grave. Walking through the empty hall in the dark, he found himself stopping at Chris's door, gently turning the handle so as not to wake the child, closing it all but a crack behind him.
Chris was sound asleep, curled up in the blankets of her bed, the window shuttered and draped over, a picture of peace and calm. This was his family now; his daughter was all he had left, more valuable than his own life.
And as long as he was there, as long as they were after him, she'd be a target; he couldn't protect Anna, how could he hope to keep them from Chris? He was a knight, a warrior, he met his enemies on the battlefield with drawn swords; he didn't know the first thing about fighting shadows that came in the night, or dressed as a servant, bearing poison and shots in the dark. All he had to do was turn his back once and she'd be gone; he couldn't be there for her constantly.
Tomorrow the Knights were leaving for Grasslands. Everyone would probably expect him to request leave for the funeral; he'd be faced with condolences from every bureaucrat from here to Tinto, and the assassins would still be there.
As long as he lived….
He knelt down by Chris's bed, running a hand through her silver hair; she stirred slightly, but didn't wake. "Forgive me, Chris…I can't be there for you…" Tomorrow the Knights would leave for the Grasslands; he was going with them, and one way or another, he wasn't coming back. Once he had cut all ties to Zexen, alive or dead, the Guild wouldn't have any reason to waste resources harming Chris. "I'm sure you'll grow up to be a fine knight, one that would've made your mother proud. I'm sorry, but I have to leave you alone; the servants will take care of you, and I'm sure the other Knights will see to it you're safe. I'm sorry." He stood up and walked out of the room, taking one last look at his daughter asleep before closing her door and going to prepare.