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Isaac knew that when he was dead his soul would be cast to the cold, empty sky. That assurance did not account for the warmth and sensation of pressure all along his left side, from his shoulder to his foot. He would have never considered that death could provide any sensation at all.
But he felt his head, heavy and swimming like it was filled with the Seilu river itself. There wasn't any pain. Only weakness. He tried to lift his right arm but it barely moved. He could manage his fingers at least, the tips of them feeling out the familiar woolen blanket on his bed. He could smell oiled leather and steel, the gear that he kept hanging from his bedpost at night. Something astringent. Burning beeswax. Roses.
Isaac commanded his eyes to open, and they did so with difficulty. The only light in the room was cast from a lowly burning candle on his bedside table. Next to the candle was a shallow dish of water, a neatly folded towel and pair of wire-framed eyeglasses. As he took all this in, the weight on his left side shifted and resettled.
Mildred breathed slowly as she slept, with her cheek pressed against his left shoulder and her hand over his heart.
He had to be dead. This was some sort of cruel trick from the gods, to punish him further. Seilu hadn't taken enough from him, now it taunted him with what could have been. Isaac didn't have the strength to raise his hand, to run his fingers through her hair or lift her chin–
He should have said more to her. He should have stayed another moment longer. He should have given her more of himself than the pittance he’d offered. But he didn't. He wanted to weep.
Her next breath was a sharp intake as she lifted her head and pushed herself up on the straw mattress. The hand on his left breast was withdrawn to rub some of the sleep from her eyes, and he felt an immediate cold from its absence. Tried as he might, Isaac couldn't muster himself to speak her name.
"Oh," she sighed as she turned away from him and looked toward the shuttered window. "I only closed my eyes for a moment."
She was speaking to herself. She wasn't speaking to him. She wasn't there. He was dead. If he was alive he would have taken that hand and placed it back on his chest and told her it was alright to go back to sleep.
For an entire agonizing minute, Mildred’s back was turned to him. She leaned over and reached for something set out on the floor by her feet. If Isaac pushed himself, perhaps he could ball his hand into a fist, pull the blanket, somehow alert her to his presence. He just wanted to see her face.
She hummed something tunelessly to herself, sitting upright again and holding a clay jar in the palm of her hand. “I’m meant to apply this every three hours, but I think I slept through your last treatment.” She spoke softly, her voice trailing off with a light quaver. She swallowed and tightened her hold on the jar. “Some nurse, I am. I should have let Felicity take over when she offered. At least then–”
Mildred finally turned to address him directly. The jar slipped from her fingers and landed with a thud on the sheepskin rug next to the bed. Her eyes went wide, glistening in the dim candlelight with tears that were quickly forming. She let out a choked sob before covering her mouth with one hand and grasping at his with the other. “Isaac!”
His chest ached. He could feel her fingers in his. He attempted to make that push, squeeze her hand and reassure her. It worked. She glanced down at his knuckles then back to his eyes. She was crying. She was smiling, but she was crying.
He couldn’t be dead. Please.
Mildred very carefully moved off the mattress and knelt next to him, placing herself at eye-level. She didn’t break the hold he had on her hand. He needed that contact and she must have known. He followed her with his eyes and they began to sting.
“You can see me,” she whispered. “Can you hear me?”
He didn’t think he could nod, so he blinked slowly. She understood and beamed at him.
“Bless the depths!” She squeezed his hand. He managed to return it. “I need to tell them you’re awake–”
No, he didn’t want her to leave. He tried to protest, but the only sound he made was a voiceless grunt.
She bit her lower lip and seemed to be fighting with herself over what she should do. “Y-you’ve been sedated for three days. Rebecca… she said you would need five at the very least. But she also said that when you were lucid again, it meant we could stop dosing you…”
Three days? What had happened to him that required he be immobilized for three entire days?
The question was in his eyes.
“You don’t remember anything, do you…” Isaac couldn’t tell if she was disappointed or relieved as she said this. There were impressions, glimpses of events of the night he and the twins entered the fog and faced the entity that had first laid the curse on their ancestors. He felt the despair and anger, and the resolution to protect his sons at any cost. But if he was here, and he wasn’t dead–
Mildred’s arm shot out to hold him down. “They’re alright! Logan and Cody, they’re well. They’re safe. They brought you back… Please! If you aggravate your wounds, we'll need to put you out again.”
He stilled. She was across his chest now, with her face only inches from his. She had his complete attention. "You'll need to go slowly. The salve we've been applying is a pain suppressant, because of the extent of the damage… The combination with the sedative is causing your difficulty to move and speak. Your body is only now strong enough to begin dispelling the effects."
She let out a breath and pushed herself back up. "I need to apply the salve again."
"Nn–" his voice came out like the croak of a bullfrog.
She frowned at him, looking more serious than he had any memory of her being before. Under any other circumstance, he knew he would have given in to her. He could handle pain better than he could handle not having command of his own body. The sedative might have been wearing off, but even the faint risk of those ongoing side-effects was unacceptable.
Their stand-off didn’t last long, however. Mildred’s shoulders sagged and she shook her head. “If this is going to be another means of punishing yourself, I won’t have it. You’ve done enough.”
Isaac knew better than to argue, even though much of him still disagreed. His actions, his choices, had done so much harm to people he cared for. Even if he lived for another forty years, it wouldn’t be enough time to atone for it.
He tilted his head to the right and peered down the length of himself. The blanket covered him from the waist-down. Bandages were wound around his forearm, shoulder and ribs. He let out a groan. It was easier than trying to articulate a full sentence.
She hesitated and looked at the hand that was still holding his. He brushed his thumb across her index finger.
She took a deep, bracing breath. "Your sword arm… The shoulder was dislocated, and half cut to ribbons. Felicity stopped the bleeding and disinfected it. I did the stitches…” He smirked a little. She caught it and her eyes softened. "Not my best work, but the material was stubborn. You'd have fared better with a cobbler."
He chuckled and regretted it immediately.
Whatever lightness about her faded when he winced from the sudden, sharp pain in his sternum. "Cracked ribs," she said, turning away from him to retrieve the salve. "I won't give you any more sedative, but you need the suppressant."
"Mildred." Yes, finally. He could speak, though his voice was rough and unfamiliar to his own ears.
There were tears streaming down her cheeks when she faced him again. He said her name a second time. She rubbed her cheek against the shoulder of her blouse to dry it. "I'm sorry," she choked. "I'm just… Isaac, you were nearly dead."
His heart had stopped, she told him haltingly. He'd tried to give himself up for his sons. The creature didn't want that. It wanted to carry out the cycle. But the twins defied it, as Isaac had done for decades. Logan took up defense while Cody worked on getting his heart to start beating again. He pumped Isaac’s chest, forcing blood to move through it, nearly breaking his ribs in the process.
In the end, the three of them survived by starving the curse of the rage it was born from. That was how Rebecca had described it to her.
"It's… over."
Finally, Isaac had the strength to lift and bend his left arm. He pulled it up, drawing Mildred’s hand to his chest and placing it back over his heart. It was beating, slowly and steadily. It should have been racing, but for the traces of medicine still in his system. "It's really over."
"Yes. Yes, it’s over."
"Mildred?"
"Hm?" She glanced up from looking at their clasped hands.
"I want to kiss you."
She froze. Her lips parted like she was going to say something but–
"I'll sit up." He began to shift.
"Don't you dare!"
Bracing her arm on the bed on his other side, carefully ensuring she didn't put any weight on him, she leaned over. "Roots and breath, Isaac Garriford." She uttered sharply, but he could hear a smile in her voice. The tip of her nose brushed against his cheek and he felt her lips softly touch at the edge of his beard. "I'm reconsidering sedation."
"I prefer this alternative."
She made a huff and raised herself up to look him in the eye. “I really should go and tell them you’re awake.”
“They don’t expect me for another two days.” He tested his right arm to see how far he could move it, if he could get it any closer to her. A shot of grief from his shoulder told him no. He let out a frustrated grunt. “I’ll concede to the salve. But please… don’t go yet. I’ve already wasted too many opportunities.”
Mildred bit her lower lip and after a moment’s thought gave a slight nod. “Alright.”
“Thank you.”
She helped him sit up and had him lean on her. She made careful work of removing wraps and applying the astringent paste to his shoulder and across the breadth of his ribs. He watched her face as she worked. Mildred showed no signs of bashfulness. She’d done this many times, afterall, and commented on how much easier it was, now that he was no longer unconscious and didn’t need her to manipulate him like an over-sized ragdoll.
Isaac waited very patiently for her to finish tying off the fresh bindings on his torso, and to put the jar away and clean and dry her hands – all the while still supporting him. The salve was working fast to dull the pain, but he was relieved to discover that he could still wrap his uninjured arm around Mildred and he placed his hand to rest on her hip. He dropped his head onto her shoulder. She replied by threading her fingers through the long locks of hair at the nape of his neck.
This was all he ever wanted. Just to be close to her, at rest, without the fear of having her torn away from him by forces far beyond his control. It was too easy to fall into the trap of dwelling on all the time they’d lost. He would spend the rest of his days resenting himself for it. But Isaac had promised, before he and the twins faced the curse head-on, that if he somehow managed to survive, he would do everything in his power to give Mildred whatever she wanted.
What she wanted was him, whole and present. He couldn’t provide that through tearing himself apart, piece by piece.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, raising up and touching his forehead to her’s. “I didn’t say it before. I walked away from you and I didn’t tell you.”
“You didn’t have to, Isaac. I knew… I know.”
“I have a lot to make up for.”
“We’ll have lots of time.”
Mildred, caressing his sunken cheek, tilted her chin up to him. He met her half-way and kissed her until he felt his limbs begin to grow heavy, and his body protest against being upright and the enormous amount of energy it took to remain so.
She helped him back to his pillow, but Isaac had gotten ahold of her apron's waistband and clutched it, pulling her in beside him. She could have easily overpowered him, gotten up and left, but instead she nestled against him and slid her arm across his waist.
“I’ve hardly slept the last few days,” she muttered into his collarbone.
“I don’t doubt it. You have a terrible habit of overworking yourself.”
“I’ll fetch you a mirror next time you make such accusations.”
It didn’t hurt to laugh this time, thanks to the salve, but still he suppressed it as well as he could. Isaac kissed the top of her head.
“I love you.”
She sighed, a sound of relief and exhaustion. “I love you… I’ll get you some broth after I’ve rested a moment.”
He smiled into her hair. “Mildred?”
“Hm?”
“Will you marry me?”
“Yes.” She shifted ever so slightly. “Once you’re recovered.”
“No, I don’t want Edmund to have time to plan anything.”
He felt her cheeks dimple. “Then you’d best recover quickly.”