Artemus found Garrett later that night exactly where he hoped and feared his son would be.
They had only been home for a shy hour, enough time for both of them to bathe and scrub the city muck from their skin and blood from beneath their nails. Garrett went first, if only because Artemus knew that his son had gone without a good bath for longer, though if he disguised his reasoning as claiming that with all of the Haven rationing, hot water would be a fleeting thing, no one could blame him.
Artemus had only just stepped out of the tub after a chilling soak when a knock darkened his door, unlike all the other times where the First Keeper sent a summons, this time, it was evident that someone was home, and Keeper Quillek, a brown-noser lackey of Orland, was far more keen to ensure that the message was received. Garrett suggested he burn it, but Artemus couldn't very well claim that he had failed to receive the summons when Keeper Quillek had seen him open the missive at the door.
Orland had been very displeased by Artemus' apparent 'tardiness' when it came to speaking to him, and as Garrett said he would, the First Keeper directed the majority of his fury to the absent thief.
Had Artemus been conned into meeting with Orland before his adventure into the city to search for his son, he'd had left the Haven with a red hand and knife, no regrets and no intention of ever returning. Lucky for the First Keeper, Garrett was safe and sound, out of harm's reach, and completely guiltless of the mess the Haven had found itself in.
Needless to say, Orland had nothing of true importance to say, no major plans or projects, no mention of the current means to sustain the Haven or find a way to reverse the second Dark Age. He summoned Artemus to rant, to have an ear to listen to him winge and whine. He didn't even ask Artemus where he had been, and Artemus couldn't be damned to tell him.
Artemus returned to his home with a headache looming on the nearby horizon, a desire for a mug of cocoa and a chance to finally rest…
But, as a father, rest was secondary to the welfare of his children… Or, child in his current circumstance.
That being said, his home was just as quaint as when he had left it to search for his children, just large enough for himself, and comfortably crowded with his children. There were only three rooms leaving few places to hide, so when Artemus returned to the sight of his living room and kitchen devoid of his son, and the bathroom door wide open…
Artemus was no thief, his feet were not silent as he walked through his home towards his bedroom.
His bed was well loved, lived in and used, the mattress soft and warm, the blankets even more-so, he could recall countless fond memories of nights where he would read to Garrett and Erin until they fell asleep beside him, content and safe and warm and cherished…
And that was where he found his son.
Curled up in a tight, trembling ball of limbs in the center of his bed, burrowed beneath a heap of blankets he had clearly stolen from the linen closet.
Weeping.
Artemus sighed as he sat down at the edge of his bed, gently laying a hand over the thief-sized bundle atop his bed.
"It's going to be alright…" Artemus murmured softly, running his hand over Garrett's shoulder through the blanket, feeling his son's trembling breaths through the duvet.
When Garrett stopped shaking so viciously, Artemus decided that a mug of cocoa was the last thing either of them needed at the moment as he hastily readied himself for bed, reluctant to leave his son's side for any longer than necessary.
Garrett was as listless as a corpse when Artemus finally dragged the blankets back to reveal his son's face, devoid of bandages…
"Oh Garrett…" The Keeper whispered as he slowly settled to lay beside his son, gingerly running a thumb over the wicked scar running across the thief's eye, a mangled wound, ill tended to save for the bandages that had been shielding it.
The wound stretched from Garrett's temple, scoring down through his brow and eye, becoming a tangled mess across his right cheek…
It looked horrible, Artemus couldn't deny that much…
But Garrett didn't need hollow premises and faux reassurances.
"We'll get through this Garrett." Artemus breathed.
"It won't be easy… But we'll manage… We've faced worse before."
Garrett merely whimpered as he shuffled forward, pressing himself to his fathers front, his face tucked into the crook of Artemus' neck.
"I couldn't save her…" The thief whispered hoarsely.
"I-I couldn't save her… And now she's gone… She's gone and it's all my fault…" Garrett babbled hoarsely.
Artemus shushed Garrett softly, pulling his son closer silently, simply offering himself as something to cling to and cry on because he knew that no amount of softly spoken words would ever be able to begin stitching his son back together.
And Garrett did just that.
Garrett clung to Artemus, his father, desperately, curled together on the too small but somehow impossibly large bed in Artemus' room, the bed that used to and could fit both thieves and their father none too comfortably, but still perfectly.
But Erin was gone.
Snatched away to Stars know where, by the Baron Northcrest.
The too small bed felt far, far too large.
And neither Artemus nor Garrett knew if the emptiness left by her would ever be filled…