"I thought I would go before she did. I always have."
Cecil stares into the distance as he speaks, his eyes watery and exhausted. Edward has seen grief before, and this is the kind that hurts the most, the grief that can't be adequately expressed. "It wasn't your fault," Edward says, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You did everything that you could."
"I know," Cecil replies, but there's doubt in his voice, and it sounds strange coming from the hero of half of Edward's tales. And Edward supposes that he does know. The disease that Rosa had fought against for the past several years could not be cured by white magic; it only would've accelerated its course, healing the tumors as well as it did the healthy flesh around them. There had been no power that either the King or Queen controlled that could've made it disappear, only drugs to ease the pain and poisons to slow its progress. Rosa had borne them all so gracefully, until the end had come. They'd had time to prepare as best they could, to call their old friends to their sides before she had died.
But no amount of foreknowledge or acceptance could dull the pain that Cecil was feeling. Edward knew that much. He took Cecil's hand and moved it to his lips, pressing them gently against his knuckles, feeling the chill of his rings against his skin. "I have made arrangements," he said. "I can stay here for a while, if you wish."
"I would," Cecil said. He looked older now, older than his years. Age was not kind to wise kings, or so Edward's father had said. "Thank you."
Edward bowed his head. When they were young, Cecil had helped Edward recover from his grief. The least he could do now was return the favor. "Of course."
The One Left Behind (Edward/Cecil, Cecil/Rosa, SFW, Character Death)
Cecil stares into the distance as he speaks, his eyes watery and exhausted. Edward has seen grief before, and this is the kind that hurts the most, the grief that can't be adequately expressed. "It wasn't your fault," Edward says, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You did everything that you could."
"I know," Cecil replies, but there's doubt in his voice, and it sounds strange coming from the hero of half of Edward's tales. And Edward supposes that he does know. The disease that Rosa had fought against for the past several years could not be cured by white magic; it only would've accelerated its course, healing the tumors as well as it did the healthy flesh around them. There had been no power that either the King or Queen controlled that could've made it disappear, only drugs to ease the pain and poisons to slow its progress. Rosa had borne them all so gracefully, until the end had come. They'd had time to prepare as best they could, to call their old friends to their sides before she had died.
But no amount of foreknowledge or acceptance could dull the pain that Cecil was feeling. Edward knew that much. He took Cecil's hand and moved it to his lips, pressing them gently against his knuckles, feeling the chill of his rings against his skin. "I have made arrangements," he said. "I can stay here for a while, if you wish."
"I would," Cecil said. He looked older now, older than his years. Age was not kind to wise kings, or so Edward's father had said. "Thank you."
Edward bowed his head. When they were young, Cecil had helped Edward recover from his grief. The least he could do now was return the favor. "Of course."