Chapter Seven: And So He Passed
The weeks that followed grew only darker for the Marslyn family. Her father was deteriorating before their eyes, and it pained Amanda to see him suffering so. Her mother watched the love of her life wither without being able to help him. That inability ate at her, and despite Amanda and Nicolarious passing before her eyes hundreds of times a day, she never saw them.
Amanda lay awake one night three weeks after Galahad and Arthur had seen them. She couldn't sleep, and found little solace in the warmth of her bed. She heard her father cough at the other end of the house, and she looked over to where her brother slept. Arthur's voice rang in her ears – he had offered the Caretaker to her father.
It was the first time she doubted her mother's abilities. Her mother had always been able to fix everything before, but now, as Amanda stared at her little brother, Amanda feared the worse.
Her father coughed again from his bed in another room, and Amanda made up her mind.
Some minutes later she stood before the steps to Arthur's castle. She paced nervously at the foot, her teeth leaving a mark in her bottom lip as she tried to gather the courage she would need to ask help. She had never trusted any man in power, and while she believed Arthur was a good man she was not so ready to put all of her faith in him. She eyed the doors, but it wasn't long before a guard stepped forward.
"What is your business here?" he demanded. Amanda took in a deep breath, and walked to him.
"My name is Amanda Marslyn," she replied, "I am in need of the Caretaker." The guard looked her up and down as if inspecting for an injury.
"Your name is not familiar to me."
"Please," she said, "my father is very sick. The King knows me. Wake him and tell him I am here if you must." Her voice felt frail, as happens to many strong people when they finally state what it is troubling their hearts. The guard looked to her again, and nodded.
"Come in," he said reluctantly, "you must wait in the entrance hall." They hurried up the steps, and Amanda was left in the cold, stone room while she waited for the Caretaker. She paced the floor for what felt like hours, wringing her hands in anxiety. No one passed her in the hall, and the darkness was only kept at bay by two torches. She could see the path that led to the Hall where she had been given dinner more than a month ago. Beyond that she knew little of the palace, and would not have been able to find the Caretaker herself.
"Mistress Marslyn," said Arthur from the hall that went off to her left. She turned to him, bowing her head quickly.
"Your Majesty –"
"Your father," he interrupted. Amanda took in a small breath, searching for the words.
"He has grown worse," she replied. Arthur stopped before her, concern on his face. "I came here on my own, no one in my family knows I have sought your help. I fear he is beyond my mother's ability now, and hope that your healers could do better work." She searched his face, praying he would yield to her requests. His brow was stern, but Amanda could see that he recognized some of her suffering.
"I will send them to him at once," Arthur replied. "I will accompany you."
"No," Amanda objected abruptly. "Please, Your Majesty, it would be better if you remained here in the palace. Surely, your healers will be able to help him. You needn't trouble yourself."
"Mistress Marslyn –"
"Your Majesty, please," Amanda interrupted, not really caring. "You need your rest. Your healers will give you a full report. It would be unfair to my mother for you to come to our home so late." Arthur sighed, understanding what she meant. His position inhibited people around him, and in such a delicate situation the last thing Arthur wished was to be a burden.
"Aye," he said. The Caretaker appeared with the guard who had woken Arthur for Amanda, and the man smiled gently.
"Mistress Marslyn," he greeted. Amanda nodded to him.
"Thank you, Caretaker," she said. "My father is in need of your help." Together they left quickly, hurrying through the streets to her father. Amanda described what was happening with her father while they walked to her home, the Caretaker asking pointed questions. His expression darkened the more she told him, and it wasn't lost on Amanda.
The moment she opened the door for him her mother looked up from the fire she was stoking.
"Goodness, girl," she chided, "where did you get off to?"
"I went to fetch the Caretaker from the palace," Amanda replied. Her mother looked to the man and nodded in greeting. She turned without any other word and led the man to her ailing husband. Amanda did not know the last time her mother slept or ate, so she took off her shawl and went to the woman.
"Mother, go to sleep. My bed is empty. I will stay here and help him with whatever he needs."
"I will not leave his side," her mother responded. Amanda looked at her mother, lips making a thin line of concern. She looked at her father, barely recognizing his feeble form. This was not the man that had raised her. His spirit had left him some time in the early hours of the last few days, and fighting to hold on to his life had made him harsh and haggard in his face. He didn't open his eyes as the Caretaker began to examine him, but coughed loudly and for a long time. Amanda turned away in pain, closing the door to the sound.
As the sun cut through the windows, Amanda stood before the dwindling fire in the kitchen. Her eyes were lost in thought, and it was only with Nicolarious' touch that called her back from her mental escape. He looked at her, and in that silent way that siblings can communicate, immediately wrapped his arms around his sister. She hugged him close to her, his head tucked under her chin.
"Are you hungry?" Amanda asked after a little while.
"Yes," he replied quietly. She was making him breakfast when the Caretaker emerged from their parents' bedroom. Amanda looked to him expectantly, and his eyes met hers. Amanda saw only sadness there.
"I am sorry, Amanda," he said, quietly. Amanda looked away from him, her eyes going to the floor in an effort to fight off her tears.
"Sir?" Nicolarious asked.
"He is so sick," the Caretaker continued. "He is beyond all skill now. All you can do is turn to your God and pray for healing." Amanda felt a searing pain in her chest as her body tensed. The Caretaker laid a consolatory hand on her shoulder, but Amanda couldn't bring herself to face him. He said something else to her but his voice was distant and unintelligible in her distress. She felt his hand leave her shoulder and heard him leave their house, but she was unable to look away from the floor. She managed to pull the bread from the pan for her brother, and the eggs she had made him found their way to a plate. She didn't know what else to do. She didn't know how to fix anything, and she didn't know how to save her father.
She could hear him coughing again, the sound amplified in her mind as the tears threatened to brim over her eyes again. Her father was dying, and she faced the uncertainty of her life without him. He had been her protector. He had been the one to rescue her when she needed it most, and how she could not help him. She gritted her teeth in frustration, placing the dish before her brother. He too was trying to comprehend what the Caretaker had just told them.
"Amanda," he whispered.
"Yes, dearest?"
"Papa," he murmured. Amanda looked to him just as his tears began to pour out over his cheeks. Amanda threw her arms around her brother as she was overcome with strangled sobs. She didn't know how long they stood like that, embraced and crying for their father, but time passed before Amanda remembered her mother.
Her mother had always said she couldn't imagine life without their father. That day was now fast approaching, and Amanda could not begin to guess what state her mother was in.
Releasing her brother and heading towards the back of the house, Amanda strained her ears for signs of her mother. She heard only her father's strained breathing, and when Amanda reached the door that was partially ajar, she peered in half-expecting her mother to have disappeared into thin air.
She was lying on the bed next to her husband, clutching his hand to her breast and staring at him with wide, wild eyes. His breathing was ragged and shallow, his skin pale and sunken against his cheekbones and collar bones. The very sight of him brought on a fresh onslaught of tears.
"Ma," she said.
"Leave me, child," her mother whispered. Amanda closed the door.
Her mother had always spoken and displayed the most intense version of love Amanda had ever seen. When she was younger she thought nothing of it, but as she passed these many summers and began to understand that not all life was like hers, she saw that not all people loved the way her parents did. Amanda saw her mother's dependency on the love of her children, and that kind of love had felt stifling from time to time. Amanda could only imagine the difference in intensity of her mother's love for her father. To love him the way she loved her children, and to be in love with him as his wife – Amanda had originally believed them to be incredibly fortunate because most people do not find that kind of love. Now, Amanda wondered if her mother would survive a day without him.
The emptiness was deep and quiet. The dark of the night had crept into Amanda's heart again and kept her from finding sleep.
Her father had passed two nights before, and Amanda had not found rest since. She had tended to him until the very end, and his rattling voice and labored breathing haunted her. It is strange to see the flame of a candle go out. One moment it's there, bright as a thousand suns cutting through darkness and then in a wisp of smoke it's gone.
She had yet to cry. She had cried many times leading up to his death, excusing herself from the room to wipe away the seemingly never ending tears. But as she knelt beside the bed and watched his last breath pass his lips, the only thing Amanda seemed to always want was air. She felt constricted in empty rooms and a pressure from the emptiness that presses against her throat and lungs in a way she had never known before. It was worse than any Saxon blade, or any judgment a king might pass on her. As she sat there at the edge of her bed in the middle of the night she was overcome with feeling she couldn't breathe. Nicolarious was fast asleep, and she quietly pulled her boots on her feet and wrapped her blanket around her shoulders to protect from the cooling fall air. She walked silently from the house and took in a deep breath as soon as she was through the door. It didn't make her feel much better, but she pretended it did and walked on.
When the sun rose her mother and brother and she would dress for their father's burial. She did not have a plan for what would happen at the ceremony, or what would be said. Her family was so new to this place – no one would remember her father with the affection he deserved. As she wove her way through the quiet paths of the city, Amanda attempted to drain her mind. She always had trouble with similar tasks, and this was no exception. When she finally came before the Wall, she turned to the left and walked along it. Holding her hand out to her side, she trailed her fingers along the uneven and worn stones beside her. She felt cased in iron – unable to move or fight her way out of the box. Her lungs felt tight again, and she stopped, gasping for her breath like she had run a hundred miles.
She wanted to run. She wanted to run far away from the memory of her father and the pain in her mother's face whenever she looked at her, and from her brother's silent pain. She wanted to sprint from behind those walls until her body failed her and she was in the middle of some unknown land. Running wouldn't make her pain any better, and if she had paused to think on it longer she would have understood that. But, all Amanda could do was prod the hole that was suddenly ripped open in her chest. She didn't know its depths or how long it would take to fill in, but the hole was there and it was sucking in all of her thoughts and emotions and stealing the air from her lungs.
She pressed her forehead against the Wall, darkness clinging to her as her pale skin burned against the cool stone. She would have to face the day as she had faced the last several. She would have to face that day for her mother and her brother because they weren't able to. They would be in pieces around her and she would hold them up. She would have to face this day whether she wanted to or not because the dawn was coming. The dawn would come the day after, too, and the day after that. She would have to face the rest of her days without her father.
And I shall have to face many more days without anyone to share my pain with, she thought.
The sun was shining brightly when they walked from the church to the knoll outside the city where the dead were buried. She had looped her arm with her mothers and draped the other around her brother's shoulders as they processed onward behind the priest and those carrying her father's coffin.
When they arrived at the spot her father would be buried Amanda didn't know. She wasn't listening to anything anyone said; instead, she was rooted to the spot, her eyes transfixed on the hole her father was to be buried in. She felt Nicolarious squeeze her hand from time to time, but it was a distant feeling that barely registered with her mind.
Her mother cried uncontrollably when the priest had finished his ritual and the few that had come to the service offered their respects to the small family. Amanda placed her arms around her mother in an attempt to comfort her as she had done countless times since her father's death, but her mother resisted any and all touch. She merely turned aside and collapsed to the ground beside her husband's fresh grave. Amanda looked at her, and then turned her attention to her brother. He didn't need to see his mother like this, so she turned away with him to walk home. The walk was long and silent as Nicolarious fought off the last of his tears.
"He loved you very much," Amanda had said quietly to her brother.
"I know. I shall miss him," he replied. "He was so soothing."
"He was, was he not?" Amanda answered, smiling gently to herself. As they passed through the open gates into Camelot, Amanda could not help but notice the bustle of the people around her. They all carried on with their duties and responsibilities as if her entire world was not shattered and in upheaval. She wanted to be angry with them – she wanted to shout at them for ignoring that her father, the only man she had ever loved with her entire heart, was gone from their lives. So many of them had not known him! So many had seen him pass on the street but had not offered as much as a smile! There they were, buying their bread or selling their trinkets, herding their sheep and cattle as if the greatest man they had never known had not just slipped from this Earth.
She wanted to be angry, but Amanda was too tired. She would have to be angry about it after she slept. If sleep would ever come.
When the siblings reached their home, they were greeted by a host of the royal guard and several questioning looks from their neighbors.
"Have Knights come?" Nicolarious asked, not hiding his excitement as he pulled from her hand and ran to the door. Amanda followed slowly, wary of these men and the tidings they brought.
"…Your Majesty," she heard Nicolarious say from the threshold of the door.
For some reason, her heart plummeted to her feet.
Why is Arthur here? She groaned inwardly. Has he nothing else to do?
"Are your sister and mother well?" Arthur asked, his deep voice carrying out the door to her ears.
"As well as is to be expected, sire," Nicolarious answered. Amanda briefly thought of her mother, left in the cemetery. She instantly considered going back for her, but knew her duties lay inside for the time being. She looked over her shoulder once more, and sighed, fully unprepared to deal with any member of the Round Table, let alone a king.
"Your Majesty," she said obediently, bowing her head and curtsying. Arthur was standing before the hearth with Nicolarious. She eventually met his gaze without hesitation, and asked: "Will any of you have something to drink? Perhaps something to eat?" Her eyes swept the room and she noted Gawain and Galahad were also present.
Galahad approached her first, and she smiled at him.
"My sincerest condolences," he said, his dark eyes steady upon her face. He touched her arm, and she gave him a small smile.
"Thank you," she said, "it is very kind of you to all come and pay your respects. My father thought very highly of you all, as do we."
"Is there anything you need?" Galahad asked softly, not intending for his voice to carry.
"Nic," Amanda said, ignoring Galahad for the moment, "cups and plates, please." Her brother nodded, and she busied herself with pouring the wine they had and laying out an array of meats and cheeses for her guests.
Dear Lord, I have to go back and fetch Ma, she thought as she was reaching for a knife to slice some bread. The Knights and Arthur had seated themselves at the kitchen table with her brother, and were talking merrily. Amanda looked round at them, and hurried to cut the bread. When finished she set it out for them, and made way to the door.
"Excuse me," she said without giving pause to any of them, and flew out the door. She half-walked half-jogged the Gate, and out along the path to the cemetery. It stood on a hill with a beautiful cluster of trees, enclosed by a low stone wall. From a distance she could see her mother, pacing in front of the place her father was buried. Her heart wrenched in her chest, and she touched her brow before heading forward.
"Ma," she said gently as she neared the woman, "I think you ought to come home with me and have something to eat."
"Do not speak to me of food," her mother snapped. Amanda swallowed, but persisted.
"Then come and take some rest. You cannot be out here in the dark."
Her mother was still pacing, her fingers flying from her hair to her dress to her lips in an agitated flurry. She hadn't been able to remain still since they had taken his body from the house. Her pace had quickened, and Amanda braced herself for what felt like a coming explosion.
"Everything is in the dark, now," her mother whispered heatedly, not even bothering to look at Amanda.
"Ma," Amanda said, her voice tense, "I know you are in pain, but there are others you must think of. Nicolarious needs you."
This plea did not register with her mother. The woman waved her hand in front of her face, as if to wave the words away before they reached her ears. Amanda sighed, and closed her eyes. She walked to the low wall and sat for some time, watching her mother. She studied her movements, frustrated that this is what her mother had collapsed into. Did the woman not care that she had a young son at home?
After what felt like an age, Amanda rose and resolutely walked to her mother. She put her arms around the woman to stop her from walking, and then took her hand. Her mother had stopped in surprise at the action, and took her daughters hand willingly. Together they made their way back to the house without speaking. Amanda could feel her mother slipping into sadness again, her hand twitching every so often.
"His Majesty has come to pay his respects," Amanda stated as they came around the bend in the road to their home. She looked to her mother for any reaction and found none. Amanda doubted it stemmed from a lack of surprise. Amanda was surprised to see that they were still there, knowing she had been gone for at least half of an hour, but entered the house with her mother anyway.
The men jumped up to greet her, but thought to give the pair ample space as soon as they saw the older woman. Amanda met Galahad's eyes with a somewhat exasperated expression, and he nodded in support as Amanda directed her mother to her bed.
"Here, Ma," Amanda said tenderly, "sleep in my bed, you know it is the most comfortable. Please, you need to rest." She helped the woman remove her shoes and laid the blanket over her gently. She lingered in the doorway for just a moment before letting the heavy cloth that closed off the room fall back into place. She then took a deep breath, and attempted to compose herself for her brother and their guests.
"You will have to excuse my mother," she said to the quiet group upon reentering the kitchen. "She is not herself, as you might imagine."
"Knights," Arthur said, after a brief pause. On that audible cue, the men rose and began to gather their belongings. Amanda watched them, silently relieved they were leaving.
"Nicolarious, we expect you to continue your training," Gawain said, causing Nicolarious to smile. It was a reference not understood by Amanda, but she was glad to see him smile. While collecting the mugs and dishes from the table, Amanda was approached by Arthur. She was forced to bring her attention to him, and she took note of the gently concerned expression on his face.
"Mistress Marslyn," he said, "should you or Nicolarious need anything, please know that my doors are always open." Amanda held his gaze but said nothing. "The days to come will be some of the hardest you will ever go through.
Amanda nodded after a moment, the only way she could communicate her understanding without offending him. The words dancing at the tip of her tongue were anything but appreciative and respectful. He held her gaze a moment longer, his fine green eyes narrowing a moment in study. Then, he turned from her and left.
"Do you think we will see them again?" Nicolarious asked from the doorway.
"Honestly, Nic," she replied, "I have no idea."