He didn't want to do this…
As he lifted Arabella up off the pallet and into his arms, he felt dread filling him. Her weight settled into his supporting embrace so lightly that she might as well have been a child. He hadn't really noticed just how much weight the infection had been stealing from her. She was so strong that she'd unwittingly (it had to have been unwittingly, for he'd seen her begin to change clothes on several occasions, and she hadn't tried to keep her condition shamefully concealed) kept something as simple but vital as her weight loss from his careful examinations. Even her face had lost its' healthy roundness. Could her face have lost so much vitality in just two days due to her bodies' desperate attempt at retaining life?
He did not want to fulfill what was so clearly one of her dying wishes; as though denying her could somehow make her live. By fulfilling her wish, it felt as though they were racing with acceptance and bravery toward the end of her all-too precious life - and he didn't feel that way. He wanted to fight her loss every single dragging step of the way. He wanted to bring her to the hospital the doctor had so strongly advised against; take the entire staff by storm, and make them save her.
But how could he deny her? She asked for so little… and the things she had asked for he'd denied her - out of nothing more than his own petty 'selflessness'. He'd been trying to prove he was a better man than Adnah or Yaakov by not making demands of her. He couldn't cause her further physical pain by carrying her over so many miles – even by wagon – to reach an uncertain destination. He knew it would only be cruel to both of them to prolong what was undoubtedly false hope…
He couldn't deny what felt like a final gift to both of them.
What else could a silly dance possibly signify?
He'd managed to feed her a little stale bread, and the meager amount of food had seemed to strengthen her a little. As he carried her, the grip she had on his shoulders was far stronger than an hour earlier. Still; he doubted she was anywhere near strong enough to stand up and dance… even if they barely moved. If he let go of her legs, he had no doubt that her toes would drag on the ground as he twirled her about. No… he was going to have to carry her meager weight just like this the entire time.
Not that he had any objection to holding his bride as long as possible.
"What are we going to do about music?" Arabella's quiet voice interrupted his dreary thoughts, and he realized that his arms were probably holding her painfully tight. He made a concerted effort to loosen his grip, taking a deep breath just to brace himself for all that was coming.
"You don't like my voice?" He asked teasingly, knowing he sounded strained but disguising it as best he could.
She made a small hum; a sound he had heard numerous times during her more half-asleep conversations with him. It was a sound of amusement and pleasure. It was a carefree sound; something glorious to hear, knowing what her life had been.
"I love your voice." She admitted. "But you weren't using it last time we danced together."
"It's all right." He promised. "I'll manage."
He stepped up onto his stage, knowing this wasn't meant to be a performance but wanting a place of familiar comfort for both of them. They'd always connected most strongly up on the stage, when music was the bridge that brought them so intimately close. It was a stronger connection than all the time he sat holding her in one or both arms; brushing his chin against the top of her head and stroking her arm. There was simply something about their shared music – his audible and hers visible – that transcended the physical.
"What should I sing?" he whispered curiously. "Would you like something original?"
"You have something I haven't heard yet?" she asked, a little extra strength entering her voice as she seemed to bristle slightly. It actually made him chuckle just a little bit; knowing she could find umbrage in being left out of his confidence on something so central to his character.
"Maybe…" he admitted teasingly.
"Then that's what I want."
The strength in her determination lightened his heart a little… but not enough… It wasn't nearly enough to put him back in the world of denial he so desired.
Arabella kept her eyes closed, trying to concentrate on the sound of her husbands' voice as he began his newest brilliant piece of music. He so rarely bothered with putting his music on paper that he always had to tell her when he'd composed something new – as paper was much too easily damaged given their lifestyle to bother using it. Or, maybe, it was simply an expense Erik didn't think worth spending; since his brain could so easily retain the information he wished it to. Regardless, she loved hearing what came from his creative mind… possibly more than she loved his little feats of magic. When combined, he certainly turned the two separate gifts into something truly special.
God… she hoped he would never lose that. She hoped he'd always leave people with the same sense of wonder that he gave her.
It was hard to enjoy their final dance; but she tried. She tried to feel the slight movement of air on her face, the way Erik's palms and fingers held her, and the way his chest vibrated against her body slightly with every single note he hummed. He was using his lowest register, which could make the earth almost literally tremble if you were standing close enough. No doubt all of his steps during the dance were minimal, but he mannaged to make her feel as though they were whirling around the courtyard where they'd shared their last night of real peace.
She tried; but all she could think of was just how much she was going to be leaving undone. Not just from lack of activity, either – such as their unconsummated marriage. It was also how unraveled Erik was likely to be once she was gone. She was terrified that Erik would be undone as well. There was always something slightly unstable in her husband that he'd so far managed to (mosty) keep hidden - or at least moderated. Adnah's murder was one of the few things that had truly given her a glimpse of the uncertain foundation she supected within him; and it was no secret that her friendship with him was what had stabalized that part of him so far. How badly would that foundation be once more shaken when she was gone?
She could barely believe her one brilliant inspiration for a last gift had been a final dance. There were so many things that she could offer him before it was too late. Some of those things were moments Erik had never experienced. Hell; some of them were things she had never experienced! Being swayed in Erik's arms was just as poignantly beautiful as she'd imagined… but somehow it still felt comparatively hollow. Why wasn't she wracking her brain harder for a new memory to leave him with? She couldn't overcome all her left over fears in what time was left; and even if she could, it would be physically impossible to prove it... but there had to be more.
"I love you…" she whispered hoarsely. "You know that, Erik? I love you… so much…"
"Shh…" he tried to sooth, rubbing his chin against her in his familiar way. "I know, ma belle. Save your strength."
"No." she managed, her voice a little stronger as she lifted her head and opened her eyes to look up at him. "I mean it, Erik… and I'm sorry…"
He closed his eyes painfully, and tried to turn away from her; but she couldn't let him do that. Loosening her grip around his shoulders, she brought one hand up to his masked cheek and pressed his face back in her direction. He was so resistant that it took longer than half a minute – although it seemed to her to take hours longer. It took even longer for his eyes to finally open and accept having to meet hers.
When their gazes met once more, she wanted to scream from the agony his amber eyes lanced her with. It was as though his body could barely contain his misery; and it was oozing out through his eyes like invisible poison.
"Erik…" she whispered. "I'm not leaving you; all right? I am never leaving you."
He tried to pull his face away again, but her other hand quickly grasped his opposite cheek so that he had no choice but to look right at her. Her arms shook with the concerted effort, but she ignored it. She had to make herself clear.
"Do you hear me?" she demanded.
"I hear you…" he managed hoarsely; his voice so soft that it barely reached her. "I don't want to… but I hear you…"
She managed a trembling smile.
"I'm not leaving you. Even if… when… I die…" She repeated.
Desperately wanting to seal her promise to him in some way, she shifted and struggled uncomfortably to close the gap between them. She was aware of whatever medication they'd given her starting to wear off rapidly due to her straining motions; but it was still holding most of her discomfort at bay. She pulled at his cheeks; almost unmasking him as she tried to reach up to him and bring her face up to his.
Her efforts barely lasted more than half of a second as sweat beaded her brow; and her strain increased the pain. She gave a loud whimper of agony; inwardly chafing at the thought that her body would betray her in such a moment. Before she could even get close enough – or long enough – to make her intention clear; her neck was going limp from exertion and pulling her face away from his once more. Her moan of pain ran straight into a groan of frustration, and her eyes fluttered shut. The pain made the world swim out of focus, and she struggled desperately to remain conscious; afraid that if she fainted she might never wake up again.
Sitting up on her own had clearly been a terrible idea.
Erik gasped softly at the whisper of sensation she'd nearly left on him; as though he wasn't sure what had just happened. Still… however startled or touched he might have been by her efforts; he was all too quickly swept away by her obvious discomfort. It was unclear if he even understood what had just happened; or if her efforts had been so useless that he remained oblivious. It didn't matter, though, considering just how swiftly his concentration focused on something else.
"Mira kom?" he asked worriedly.
Still gasping through the pain, Arabella continued fighting to retain full consciousness.
"I… I need to lay down." she breathed. "God… I'm sorry… I would have done more-"
"Shh…" her husband persisted. "It's all right, mira kom… Let's just get you some medicine…"
She shook her head faintly as she felt him begin striding back toward the terrible red Freak Show tent. The strides were interrupted briefly by a disorienting sensation of weightlessness as he took a quick leap from the low platform.
"N-no…" She protested. "No more… No more medicine… Save it for… someone it can help..."
"Bella, you promised." He nearly snapped.
She smiled faintly and forced her eyes open again so that she could peer up at him. The rain had finally stopped completely at some point while she slept; but she hadn't noticed until now. The sky was still overcast; but the clouds were trying to break up. They allowed shafts of sunshine to shift over the land; and one of them was bright enough over Erik's shoulder to keep her from barely making out even his white mask.
"Not breaking my promise." She assured him. "But I can fight a losing battle my own way."
Erik made a low sound in his throat that sounded suspiciously like a growl.
"Just believing your fight is a losing one guarantees you'll fail." He muttered.
"I can still fight." She protested. "Fighting gives me a little more time… even if the extra time hurts…"
She felt his hesitation; but Erik didn't say whatever it was that had crossed his mind. Their very short journey ended abruptly when he deposited her onto her sleeping pallet almost as though he couldn't stand to hold her any longer. Arabella by that time was in just a little too much continued pain to really take any personal offense. Lying flat on the ground again was an immense relief. Just being held across his lap probably would have kept her in agony. If he was angry at her talk of death… then so be it. She wasn't going to mislead him… and the medicine was wearing off too swiftly for her to feel more sensitive toward his plummeting emotions now.
"She needs the tea." Erik muttered quietly. "I'm going to make her some. Please stay with her?"
"Of course I will." Tsifia replied instantly, as Arabella again opened her eyes to look around her.
"Erik, I don't want it." Arabella persisted quietly.
"I'll make some anyway." He told her dismissively. "You might change your mind."
The old woman was already kneeling directly beside her – as though she hadn't moved since they finished changing her into her beautiful red dress.
"I can make the tea if you'd prefer." She offered.
There was a brief pause that was so taut with hesitation; there was no way for Arabella to miss it.
"Where's the satchel?" Erik demanded.
"It's right there." Tsifia motioned quite deliberately to the bag Arabella had almost entirely forgotten about. It was the same tiny object they'd been squabbling over when she awoke; and no one had moved it from where it had been dropped. Arabella turned her head slowly to frown at it, her fingers creeping curiously in its' direction.
With a low French curse, Erik crouched and scooped the bag away from her seeking hand. With a grumble, he shoved the little and seemingly harmless pouch into his pocket and stormed off – presumably to make her the tea he thought would help her condition a little longer.
"What was that about?" she instantly asked Tsifia. Now that she was very still again, it was so much easier to think beyond her growing pain. It probably wouldn't last long… but she needed to use her time so very carefully now.
For a moment, it looked as though her grandmother wouldn't answer. She stared off after Erik looking both sympathetic and discouraged; giving Arabella a cold shiver that seemed to come from nowhere. Then, slowly, she turned her sad eyes down to her and managed a shaky smile.
"That… was about a man who can't let go." She replied slowly. "The doctor told us what we should expect… and… well… I … I wanted to spare you some of it."
Arabella felt her eyes go enormously round. Death was so unnatural in the view of her people that the mere thought of ending a life was something close to sacrilege. It was hard to imagine her grandmother working up enough courage to go so strongly against nature in order to end anyone's suffering. Instantly she understood why Erik had been reacting with something so close to violence. He was having more than enough trouble accepting what was inevitable. He wouldn't want to rush into a future without her.
"It was poison?" she breathed, not sure if she felt awed, horrified, terrified, repulsed, or drawn to the idea.
"It is… possibly… a mercy." Tsifia admitted reluctantly. "My dear… it isn't as though such mercies have never occurred before. Some people are just in so much pain that it's worse to see them that way than it is to lose them."
"Am I…" Arabella swallowed thickly; trying hard to rid herself of the bile suddenly in her throat. "Am I going to be in that much pain?"
"I don't know." Tsifia admitted quietly. "But I know that Erik will not be able to withstand seeing you in your final moments… if they play out anything at all like the doctor told us to expect."
"What is it?" She wasn't sure she wanted to know; and the fear of the future took all left over strength from her voice; but she forced herself to ask. "What is going to happen to me?"
Tsifia closed her eyes, shaking her head slowly.
"Suffice it to say that it will hurt." She admitted. "I don't want to scare you by saying more."
Arabella forced another painful swallow and stared around her. She took in the few tribes' members who remained close by to support her husband and grandmother. She saw the dreariness of the soaking wet ground that had yet to recover from the torrential rains. She saw Erik's plain stage in the distance, set up very swiftly so he had somewhere safe to bring her for their dance. She couldn't imagine dying here; and being buried in such a dismal place.
Her eyes returned to the nearby members of her clan. Many of them were looking at her now, apparently moved in some tense way by her liveliness. They shifted awkwardly; as though none could decide whether to get up and approach her or not.
"Bunica…" she breathed hoarsely. "They're here to talk to me… aren't they? "
"Anton and his family blame themselves as strongly as I do for what you suffered." Her grandmother admitted. "They seek your forgiveness."
"So I won't haunt them in death…" Arabella finished; feeling sicker to her stomach. "I don't want to talk to them. I… I don't think Erik could handle it."
"They want you to die in peace." Tsifia inserted firmly. "Even Erik could understand that."
"Yes…" she admitted. "But… Erik doesn't forgive so easily. He would never forgive them. He might not be able to bring himself to allow this…"
There was a taut silence and Arabella winced as she realized that she had just put another aspect of tension between her husband and grandmother.
"Do you want to talk to them?" Tsifia whispered. "I can keep Erik away for a few moments… keep him out of it. This is, after all, Romani business."
Sighing, Arabella closed her eyes.
"Don't talk like that." she pleaded. "He is my husband."
"Arabella." Tsifia scolded. The single utterance was enough to make her point clear. Arabella and Erik couldn't actually refer to each other out loud as husband and wife until a baby was born. But now there never would be a baby. Aria was gone; and any attempt to eventually turn Erik around on the idea of having his own offspring was long lost. She would call him whatever she wanted – and she had been for some time, with the exact same disapproval from her grandmother she always received.
"Tell them they don't have to sit there and wait." She sighed; turning her head away from the group. "Tell them I never blamed them… they are forgiven."
"… All right…"
Erik returned shortly after, and offered her the freshly brewed tea he'd gone to make. Arabella had already told him she didn't want to be freshly drugged; but simply didn't have the heart to refuse his efforts completely. The pain was getting worse… and she dreaded the possibly untold agonies her grandmother had already predicted. She also wasn't ready to put Erik through witnessing it. She didn't drink the tea all at once… but she did take a few small sips; just to try and slow her deterioration a little more. It tasted a little different this time… but she couldn't place exactly how. It probably didn't matter… Erik was always experimenting with things. How ingredients blended together wasn't beyond his horizon of curiosity.
Things were quiet for a time after that. It seemed everyone was simply waiting… a tedious and knuckle-biting endeavor. Arabella was bored within moments; although her boredom was dulled right along with her pain and fever thanks to the tea. She lay there as her grandmother fetched two bowls of water, and motioned for Sarima to come over and start bathing her from head to toe. Erik backed away just far enough to let them work; watching with stony sullenness as his wife was pre-prepared for her death. This tradition must have been explained to him earlier, for he asked absolutely no questions. He simply watched every single expression cross her face, from the bliss of having her hair washed, to the relaxing of her body due to the scents her grandmother had placed in the water. The entire area smelled of lavender.
It wasn't enough to dull her pain any further than the tea had... but it was still very, very nice.
What startled her more than Erik's resentful calmness, though, was how Sarima couldn't even seem to look her in the eye. She avoided looking at her with just as much concentration as she had always avoided looking at Erik. It actually hurt her feelings a little to be so thoroughly lost in her best friend's eyes that she couldn't even acknowledge her continued existence. It seemed off somehow… particularly since the Romani did so much to make sure the dying left the world happily.
"Erik…"
She had waited until Sarima walked away… but by that point she was starting to realize the tea was already losing its' potency. Every minute that passed brought her closer to feeling actual pain again. She reached out to him without even looking to where he'd gone, and felt him close her hand within his in seconds. The careful bathing had given her quite a bit of time to think through the consequences of her pain returning. It was a great deal more than just the pain she had to worry about. She doubted that her fever would remain down if her pain was returning.
Undoubtedly, both symptoms were returning together.
"What can I do for you, ma belle?" he asked earnestly.
"I don't feel well…"
"Of course you don't." he muttered dryly, taking her hand and lifting it until he could brush his lips across her knuckles. "How can you expect to?"
Arabella glanced at him from under her lashes for a moment, awed by his ability to swing from sullen resentment to absolute warmth and tenderness. The sadness in his eyes was still there… but… he seemed unable to fight the inevitable anymore. He almost looked at peace. Almost. Unfortunately; the spark of hope she'd seen in his eye earlier had been replaced with one of carefully caged agony.
She shook her head slowly, the tiny motion making her nauseous.
"No… I mean… it's wearing off…" she sighed. "You can't keep giving me all that tea… You might need the herbs for someone they can actually help."
"You expect me to just let the pain have its way with you?" he demanded; fury instantly boiling so close to the surface of his skin that Arabella nearly flinched.
"There are other ways for the pain to go away…" she admitted; sounding much more timid than she'd expected to. "I'm more worried about the fever… I don't like what it was doing to me before. I… I thought Aria was here somewhere… and you were angry at her…"
She heard the reversed hiss that Erik took in through his teeth.
"I don't want to think things like that again. I don't want thoughts like that to be the last ones I have…"
There was a long and taut silence as Erik thought through her implications.
"She told you…" he realized; glancing sharply at Tsifia with a hateful glare. "She talked to you about that damn-"
"-She wouldn't have if I hadn't asked." Arabella interrupted quickly. "Don't be angry at her, Erik. She just… doesn't want me to suffer."
"You think I do!"
"No, Erik. No." Arabella slowly opened her eyes again; peering up at him sympathetically. "I think it's the last thing you want. But killing someone you love – even out of mercy – simply isn't in you."
Erik stared down at her; swallowing thickly as his eyes glazed over. His grip on her hand became almost bone-crushing, but Arabella didn't so much as wince. The pain in her stomach was going to be much worse soon enough; and she certainly couldn't blame him for his instinctive hold. She'd have held him just as tightly if their roles were reversed.
"I…" he began; but words failed him and he cleared his throat quite violently. Compared to her own pain, Arabella winced at the sound. She could just imagine how much such a thing must have hurt his throat. "Bella… you don't want to die…"
"No, I don't." she agreed.
There was a long moment, and she felt tears choking her, welling up in both eyes and throat. When she spoke again, her voice was weak.
"I'm just… a little scared…"
"You have nothing to be scared of." Erik promised, placing his hand gently on her forehead.
"It's the dying part…" she whispered; as if he hadn't spoken. "It's the pain… and the fever… And knowing you have to watch it happen… It isn't death, itself. I told you… I know what's going to happen afterward. I'm not going anywhere…"
"Bella," Erik persisted, his voice strengthening as hers weakened. "You have nothing to be afraid of."
She tried to nod; if only to humor him, and offered another false smile for his sake. He stared down at her for a long time, that tiny spark of agony in his eyes dilating and spreading. She knew that before long it just might encompass even the tenderness he was so capable of. She knew him so well… more than well enough to have seen how quickly his mood changed… how damaged his emotions could become in the blink of an eye.
His mother had left him scarred, indeed, in a way that had nothing to do with his face. She had taught him many things… but unwittingly taught him that governing his emotions was not a necessity. He'd learned a little on his own; but he'd admitted to her – without ever really imparting very much information – that his temper had certainly come from her. His actual tenderness had come from somehone else he never named.
"Will it help if I sing to you?" he finally croaked.
"Your voice always helps…" she admitted reluctantly. His voice could calm her like aloe could soothe a burn. But she didn't want him to be left thinking she was only drawn to him because of it. It was one of the insecurities of his that he'd never really discussed with her… but she knew about it. He'd joked about it… and she'd known enough to find the grain of truth in that jest.
"But you need more." He stated, reading easily into her hesitancy.
Arabella managed a little noncommittal shrug; not really thinking there was anything more Erik could do. Honestly… she was simply feeling more and more tired as her pain grew more and more intense. It was a bizarre combination; as though the pain were pinning her down with instant exhaustion and making her even more vulnerable to it.
There was a final awkward silence.
"Bella…" he breathed.
"Yes?" she asked, not opening her eyes. It seemed like too much effort.
There was movement at her side, but she wasn't so much as tempted to peer through her eyelids until she felt Erik suddenly flush up against her side and pulling her into his arms. She managed to peer at him blearily, but then her eyes dragged shut again and she sighed in resignation. She was incapable of really responding as she felt how her husband trembling from head to foot against her. Or… was that her own trembling, only noticeable once she was hugged so tightly to Erik's solid and still frame? It was so hard to tell.
"Keep your promise…" he murmured, his body tensing as though bracing for pain worse than she could ever imagine. "Please… please…"
"I will, Erik." She assured him; almost distractedly. "I will…"
Everything felt so far away. The warmth of Erik's thin body close to hers; the smell of the still mostly soggy ground all around them and the air that still held traces of rain. The sounds of a breeze going through nearby trees, and the murmurings of Anton with his nearby family were all growing so distant. She found herself wondering exactly what Erik had put in her latest sips of tea… because the pain still existed; but even that seemed very far away. Whatever it was… it hadn't been in what she was drinking when she first regained consciousness.
I'll stay with you…