The tears of a king aren't really more precious than the tears of anyone else. They are, however, more shocking, more painful to see. If your monarch is saddened enough to weep, then musn't the tragedy be something horrible beyond imagining?
The sight of Garwin lying with a dagger buried in his mangled stomach, Thayne's inert form looking small and crumpled beside him, and the thought of his sweet wife's life ebbing away while he could do nothing for any of them- it was too much for any man, let alone one who had only become king the day before. His carefully crafted armor was violently flung away, his broad shoulders slumped as he sat next to his brother's body. Dalenna was still sobbing, occasionally whispering 'wake up, please' in hushed tones.
Angel couldn't look at the knife whose hilt was still standing proudly, so he focused on Garwin's face. The face that looked so much like his own, the face that contained the green eyes so reminiscent of Marie's-
Angel shut his eyes tightly when he thought of her, the sweet woman who had been like a mother and best friend to all of them. Was this the best he could bring back to her? Was she to find her long lost son, only to lose him again, killed by the man who had nearly done the same to her spirit?
He stroked Garwin's cheek lightly, feeling the warmth that lingered there still. If he just looked at the quiet face, then he could almost believe that Garwin was sleeping.
Of course, with such a thought, his perverse eyes turned to look at the gruesome sight. The dark blood staining Garwin's slashed tunic, Garwin's right hand covered in blood, the guilty dagger laying beside his thigh.
Angel looked back at the handsome face, brushing Garwin's lips and why was the dagger on the ground?
Angel did a double take, and then looked at Dalenna, as if she would have been able to remove the weapon, but she was still huddled on Garwin's shoulder, begging him to wake up. His eyes became positively wild as he realized the reason his hand was so warm was because of the breath caressing the tips of his fingers.
"Garwin- can you hear me?" his voice was strained, hopeful and completely desparate.
Silence.
And then Garwin took a ragged breath, his chest shuddering with the effort, and Angel choked with relief. Dalenna shrieked and looked up at the king with a radiant smile. They each clutched one of Garwin's hands, and after an eternity and a half, his clear green eyes were looking up at both of them fondly.
"Did we win?" he asked in a rough voice.
"We did now," Angel answered.
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Nurses were brought with all possible haste, bringing bandages and healing herbs, and during all of their ministrations, Garwin managed to grit his teeth and keep on smiling.
"I just can't seem to stay out of bandages these days. Perhaps I can make them fashionable."
Angel laughed. "Well, a lot of the other soldiers are already wearing them, so I'd say you already did."
"Maybe it's my own fault- I enjoyed being an invalid so much, I decided to get injured and resume my life of pamperings and personal attendants. Oh, that reminds me- where's Thayne?"
Angel looked away.
Garwin shook his head firmly. "No. He isn't dead."
"Garwin, I'm sorry-" Angel began.
"No, you're not listening. He is not dead."
"I know how upset you must be-"
Garwin cut him off with an exasperated sound. "Angel, I'm not saying he didn't get hurt. Where is his body?"
Angel pointed, and Garwin sighed. "Okay- help me get over to him."
"Are you in jest?" Dalenna gasped. "You cannot be moved in this condition!"
"Unless you plan on leaving me in this field while you all head back home, you have to move me sooner or later. It might as well be sooner, and that way we can check on Thayne. Now Angel, help me up."
If the distance had been longer, he would have refused, but the determination in Garwin's oddly unworried eyes convinced Angel that it couldn't cause any excessive harm to comply. Together, they moved the few feet over to the young man's blood-covered body. Garwin placed his hand under Thayne's jaw, and smiled. Angel reached out to the same spot, and muttered an exclamation when he felt a weak pulse.
"How on earth? I saw Aylmar cut him down!"
Garwin held up a hand, then pulled up Thayne's tunic, revealing a vest of chain metal. "He may be 'just a foot soldier', but he's my personal guard, and I wanted him to have some insurance. This is where all the blood is coming from." He gestured at Thayne's left arm. Aylmar's sword had slashed him from shoulder down to his wrist, and although the damage was considerable, not to mention bloody, it wasn't fatal.
"I thought I had lost everyone." Angel's eyes were filled with relieved tears.
"Well, you'll have to put up with us a little while longer." Garwin squeezed Angel's shoulder. "You'll bring us both back to the princess, and we'll be playing games with her before you know it."
Angel's face closed down, and Garwin looked at him in dismay.
"What? What's wrong? Is she okay?"
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She was sleeping.
Marie was combing out Willow's long, red hair as she slept silently. She had stopped thrashing, she had stopped crying out, and she had stopped waking up. Her skin was the color of white ash, her cheeks sunken, and her eyes had been closed since her last bloodletting. The blood on her bandages and the red of her hair were the only places of color on her thin frame.
Yet for all the fiery color her body had made, the tips of her still fingers were cold.
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The messenger ran through the palace halls, skidding as he turned corners too sharply. Maids got out of his way quickly, exchanging glances as they saw where he was headed.
Marie looked up at the quick knocking. She let go of Willow's waxy hand and walked over to the door, not looking very surprised when she saw the breathless young man on the other side. He bowed quickly.
"My lady, I have come with a message for you. King Alaric and his army return from the war victorious, and they shall most likely arrive back this evening. His Majesty sent me to tell you especially."
Marie nodded. "King Alaric."
She didn't really ask the obvious question, but he answered it with his solemn eyes. "He instructed me to tell you that King Aylmar is dead, and also that King Padraic's funeral will be in two days time."
The order of the information was purposeful, and the reason for it was not lost on Marie. She was about to dismiss the man, when he bowed once more.
"King Alaric expressed his wishes for you to tell the Queen that he will be home as quickly as he may." The messenger paused, and Marie could imagine how the king must have looked when he dictated this message. "He said that he wished for you to tell it to the Queen...even if she couldn't hear you."
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As much as Angel had wanted to ride Bishop at a hard gallop until he was back at the palace, he knew that a king could not arrive home without his army, and he rode in front of them, going insane with the waiting and wondering about how Willow was doing.
Garwin and Dalenna watched from the cart they were riding in together. Garwin had insisted he could ride, but Angel had rolled his eyes and ordered him into the cart upon pain of death. Dalenna fussed over him with a gentleness at odds with her often sarcastic words, and Garwin hardly even noticed the gaping wound in his stomach.
"May I ask you a question, milord?"
He looked up at her with a smile. "Stop calling me 'milord'. And ask away."
"What is the queen like?"
His eyes took on a faraway look. "She's like...life. Vibrant and funny and honest. Exquisitely lovely. I never had a sister before her, but I find I like the experience."
Dalenna looked forward to where Angel rode, his back tense. "You have been lucky to have a brother like the king."
Garwin nodded, his eyes fond. "He is so very much in love with her. He has known a lot of love lost in his life, but he never lets any of it reach her."
"She must love him."
"If you could see the look in her eyes..." he trailed off, and then he met her gaze, and he realized that he really didn't have to explain anything.
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Marie heard the footsteps in the hall, and she knew who it was even before the door opened.
Angel ran in, nodding gratefully at Marie as he rushed to Willow's bedside. There was a canopy tumbling down around the bed, and he pulled it aside with a gentle hand.
He froze completely, impossibly still as he looked down at what was left of his wife. He had left her flushed with love and desire and a deceptive appearance of health. This creature lying before him, this shade of life, this was not his princess, his Queen, his Willow.
He saw the bangages wrapped around her forearms and elbows, and he turned to Marie in confusion. "What are these wounds?"
"Well, when her fever continued to climb, the healers had to bleed her, Your Majesty."
"They did _what_?" His voice was low and deadly, and Marie took a step back in surprise and some fear.
"They decided that bloodletting would be the best solution-"
Angel didn't hear the rest of her sentence. He had been born in a time that believed such barbaric methods worked, but the thought of anyone slashing at Willow's body, letting her lifeblood flow away...
He touched her hand softly, and hissed when he felt how cold it was. "She's freezing!"
"I can't seem to keep her warm."
He remembered the feeling- the clammy coldness that he had known for centuries. He had hated it.
"Thank you, Marie. If you want to see Garwin, I believe he was escorted to the infirmary when we arrived."
"Infirmary?" her voice was sharp, and Angel tore his eyes away from Willow's face.
"Aylmar." It was explanation enough, and her mouth became a line.
"The messenger told me he was dead-"
"I killed him. I fought him, and he lost, and he knew the feeling of cold steel slicing through him before his miserable life finally ended. I left my sword buried in his soiled flesh, and I forbade anyone from removing his corpse from the place where it fell. His lords swore fealty to me, and our countries are united as Padraic always wished them to be. Somewhere out in the dark, his body still lies on the battlefield, rotting, just as his soul did so many years ago."
Marie nodded. "Goodnight, Your Majesty."
She closed the door quietly, and Angel quickly stripped off his travel clothes. Wrapping himself in a dressing gown, he crawled into the bed beside his unconscious bride. He wrapped his arms around her, willing his body heat to thaw her, to bring her back from the edge-
But no, he wouldn't even think that thought. He would just hold her close, his warm breath on her cheek, and forget about war and crowns and blood. And he would hope that when he woke in the morning, she would open her eyes and welcome him home.
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When Marie entered the palace infirmary, one of the nurses smiled and pointed out Garwin's bed. She paused as she saw the beautiful blonde girl kneeling next to him. Dalenna had fallen asleep, her head pillowed in the crook of her elbow, but Marie noticed that her left hand was still entwined with Garwin's.
He smiled happily when he saw his mother approaching, and she bent over to kiss his upturned cheek. She saw the many bandages wrapped around his midsection, but the look of peace on his face put her mind at rest.
"Who is your friend, dear?" she asked as she stroked his hair back from his forehead.
"Her name is Dalenna. She lived in Aylmar's country before the war."
"How did you meet her?"
"She was being accosted in a village I was exploring. I stopped the man and she returned with me."
Marie's eyes filled with tears, and she realized she had never loved anyone quite as strongly as the man who lay before her. "Well done."
He shook his head. "There was nothing else to be done."
"My darling, I am so glad you have come home." She kissed him again, and Dalenna stirred. She opened her eyes, and stood quickly when she saw Marie. She sank into a deep curtsy.
"My Lady," she greeted Marie.
"Dalenna, I am delighted to meet you. Pray, sit down, so that we may become acquainted."
Dalenna complied, smiling shyly at the older woman.
"One request," Marie added with a smile.
"Anything, milady."
"Please, do not bother to call me 'Lady'. We are too similar to bother with extraneous titles."
The three of them settled into comfortable conversation, and so did the evening pass.
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Angel was dreaming again. He was sitting in the royal throne, but instead of being located in the throneroom, the dais was in the main room of the Crawford Street mansion. As he fiddled with his scepter, the majordomo (who looked and sounded suspiciously like Wesley) announced that any citizens who wished to address the king should step forward.
Then someone did, and it was Padraic.
He smiled broadly, and Angel bowed his head in respect.
"It takes a long time to get there," Padraic remarked. "Just remember- they always lose your bags." Then he hailed Drusilla, who was dancing in the garden.
Angel watched the white haired king as he waltzed gracefully with the dark haired vampiress, not noticing as the next petitioner tried to get his attention.
"Angel..."
He shook his head, trying to understand.
"Angel-"
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He jumped as he awoke, the image of Padraic's smiling face being the only part of the dream he retained.
Except...
"Angel?"
Her face was white, her eyes were confused, but her skin was warm, and Angel kissed Willow's cheek as softly as he was able.
"You're awake," he whispered, as relief flooded through his veins.