Chapter Text
Thancreds eyes have yet to open since you've all managed to dispelled Lahabrea from him. The realization makes the little fire in you die a little more. Your eyes close and the feeling of his warm skin against your slightly colder ones somehow isn't enough to convince you that he's alive. That he's going to be fine and soon enough, he'd open his eyes and laugh and joke like he used to, before all of this.
Your head falls against his chest, your hands absentmindedly searching for his. You focus on his breathing (it's so shallow, it scares you), on his warmth.
Twelve, it had taken so many healers to stabilize him. Even with the Elder Seedseer and you helping, drained to the core trying to to help with the healing, his recovery process isn't as good as you wished it would be. You hadn't thought it'd be this bad, when you've taken him out of the Caestrum. Lahabrea was fine using his body - there was no sign to indicate any harm done to him and you've went the extra mile to try not damage him- so why is Thancred almost lifeless when you manage to get him back?! Your grip tghtens, tears well up. Your little fairies are just watching it all unfold, silently sitting near a long cold tea. Why does it feel so heavy (why does everything feel so, so damned heavy now)?
You can't recall ever being a disrespectful child, can't recall angering the Twelve (You're chosen by the Mother, after all!), so why you deserve this fate is an enigma for the centuries.
Besides yourself, him, Eos and Selene, there is no one, and despite the fae not breathing, it feels like there is not enough air in here. The room is too small, there is no open window - Breathe, breathe, breathe, it wouldn't do Thancred good if he was to wake up to your half rotting corpse. Breathe. Slowly. Your hand is fumbling around too much with his, mind too focused on your own doom and gloom to notice anything else.
So when Minifillas hand touches your shoulder, you jump in fright and turn around. She only smiles at you sadly. (It must be a sad sight, the great Hero and Warrior reduced to ... this). "You haven't drank your tea," she starts, voice trailing off. No, you shake your head. Her shoulders sag with your confirmation, but she doesn't sigh, doesn't say anything. It's silent except for the footsteps. "We're all worried, you know," a window opens, but she doesn't turn back to look at you. You don't want her to look at you, so you look down at your hand grasping onto Thancreds, "Not just about him. But you, too." you don't look up, but the world feels heavier. "I'm fine." is all that you can bring yourself to say. You might be reduced to whatever this state is, but you won't cry, dammit - Not when someone can actually see it-!
You hear her approach, but there is still an armslenght of distance between you two. She says your name, delicatly. You can't look. Not right now, anyways. "He's important to me, too," she starts, her voice sounds lighter by force, "He's like.... a Father I never had... always there for me when no one else could be, and I think I failed him when he went missing... I blamed myself for what Lahabrea had done, I'm sure you do, too..." You close your eyes, "I could have stopped it." a short sentence, but it feels like someone punched you to say that. Minfilla was silent. (She's blaming you, you idiot. She knows you could have stopped it, why would you -) "How would you have done that?" slowly you look up. She is still smiling that sad smile, but from this angle it feels like shes taking pity on you. You're too drained to care about that. "We all knew he wasn't really himself, we all had suspicions, and yet..."
You move your free hand around - if only you had been there, instead of missions, to care and guide him back, if only you weren't so busy...!
Words seem to fail you alot these days. So you let your hand fall, inpart when you realized you're trying to put the blame on her. She's not at fault, neither are you (but are you really sure about that, great Hero?), nor the others.
Footsteps, but the go past you, "He will wake up in time, especially in your attentive care," the teacup clinks against the small plate when she lifts them up, "but you shouldn't neglect yourself for him either, he wouldn't want you to do that to yourself." A brief hand rests on your shoulder when she walks past you.
No, he wouldn't want that.