Post by Lisa on Nov 8, 2009 14:30:21 GMT 10
Title: Twisting
Rating: PG
Prompt: Healing
Summary: Wyldon needs to recover after the loss of his son.
Notes: set in the "Cavall's Heart" universe. This one is for the Wyldon-fangirls, in anticipation of Wyldon Winter.
Cavall’s Heart: Twisting
January 443 H.E.
Life in Cavall had not easily regained its normality after the death of Soren. Not that Wyldon expected it to easily: his daughters had been ill as well, infected with the same sickness that had taken his son, on the verge of turning three years old.
Eiralys, four and a half years old, was the only child who had recovered in time to attend the funeral service that was held at the small temple of the Black God in the village. Vivenne had stood at his side, pale and somber under a thick cloak – it was well below freezing and their fifth child was due in a month and a half. He carried Eiralys in his arms; she was still weak from her bout of Sweating Sickness, and he liked having someone to cling to.
For the next few weeks the other girls’ illness took over their lives. Sunarine and Cathrea recovered slowly. Wyldon and the servants nursed them back to health – no one wanted to risk Vivenne’s health and, by proxy, the life of the baby she carried.
The sickness passed, and Wyldon still hadn’t fully grieved the loss of his only son. He continued his routines – morning runs, physical training in the courtyard, tending the horses and hounds – as if there was no change in his life. He did not think about how he had once looked forward to sharing these routines with his son. He did not think of his wife’s melancholy expression or the way she barely ate at dinner.
“You haven’t shed one tear,” she had said late one evening when they were alone in their chambers. “I don’t understand how you can be so stoic when our darling boy is gone.” She had sobbed into her pillow that night, her back turned to him; she jerked away every time he reached out to her.
She had slowly resumed her previous activity - preparing the nursery for the child yet to come. The girls had gone back to their playing and bickering. Eiralys picked on Cathrea unmercifully until Wyldon stopped her, and Sunarine finally stopped sucking her thumb. On the outside, it looked like a normal, happy family.
But then moments would creep up. Soren’s toy sword was found, shoved under Eiralys’s bed and Wyldon remembered how the boy had cried over losing it. And when he went to the kennels for feedings and training, Soren’s favorite hound – a large brindled boarhound he had called Copper – stood to the side, waiting for her favorite person. Each time Wyldon would feel his heart twisting, but he pushed his feelings aside. He instead continued his normal duties, waiting until the king called on him for border patrol or some other assignment.
It was a month after Soren’s funeral when Eiralys came running to him, her light brown hair in tangles and her cheeks red. She had been outside in the cold, likely in the stables or kennels.
“Papa - Copper’s sick!” she cried.
He jumped up from his desk and followed her out to the kennels, ignoring the cold. She led him into the wooden structure, taking him to a corner where the bitch was lying, listless. Her abdomen was distended already.
“Go get your mother,” he said firmly. Vivenne wouldn’t be able to help, but it would get Eiralys out of the building.
Torsion was common in boarhounds, he knew. He had lost several dogs to this in the past – cutting open the abdomen and righting the twisted stomach had worked once. But once the stomach was distended, he knew there was little time left.
“Come on girl,” he pleaded, petting her. She had been fine that morning, when he had fed all the dogs. She whimpered low, her eyes pained. She began to seize uncontrollably.
It was over as quickly as it began; within moments she was dead in his arms, and Wyldon was shaking from the force of his own tears. He didn’t know how long he held her, but a warm hand touched his back.
“Wyl, let her go,” Vivenne said gently. “I can’t kneel down to hug you, so I really need you to stand.”
He did so, numbly, and she pulled him into as tight a hold as she could muster with her oversized belly. He dropped his head against her shoulder. “I can’t believe he’s gone,” he whispered between gulps of air, finally crying for the son he lost.
“I know, love,” she murmured through her own tears. “I know.”
Rating: PG
Prompt: Healing
Summary: Wyldon needs to recover after the loss of his son.
Notes: set in the "Cavall's Heart" universe. This one is for the Wyldon-fangirls, in anticipation of Wyldon Winter.
Cavall’s Heart: Twisting
January 443 H.E.
Life in Cavall had not easily regained its normality after the death of Soren. Not that Wyldon expected it to easily: his daughters had been ill as well, infected with the same sickness that had taken his son, on the verge of turning three years old.
Eiralys, four and a half years old, was the only child who had recovered in time to attend the funeral service that was held at the small temple of the Black God in the village. Vivenne had stood at his side, pale and somber under a thick cloak – it was well below freezing and their fifth child was due in a month and a half. He carried Eiralys in his arms; she was still weak from her bout of Sweating Sickness, and he liked having someone to cling to.
For the next few weeks the other girls’ illness took over their lives. Sunarine and Cathrea recovered slowly. Wyldon and the servants nursed them back to health – no one wanted to risk Vivenne’s health and, by proxy, the life of the baby she carried.
The sickness passed, and Wyldon still hadn’t fully grieved the loss of his only son. He continued his routines – morning runs, physical training in the courtyard, tending the horses and hounds – as if there was no change in his life. He did not think about how he had once looked forward to sharing these routines with his son. He did not think of his wife’s melancholy expression or the way she barely ate at dinner.
“You haven’t shed one tear,” she had said late one evening when they were alone in their chambers. “I don’t understand how you can be so stoic when our darling boy is gone.” She had sobbed into her pillow that night, her back turned to him; she jerked away every time he reached out to her.
She had slowly resumed her previous activity - preparing the nursery for the child yet to come. The girls had gone back to their playing and bickering. Eiralys picked on Cathrea unmercifully until Wyldon stopped her, and Sunarine finally stopped sucking her thumb. On the outside, it looked like a normal, happy family.
But then moments would creep up. Soren’s toy sword was found, shoved under Eiralys’s bed and Wyldon remembered how the boy had cried over losing it. And when he went to the kennels for feedings and training, Soren’s favorite hound – a large brindled boarhound he had called Copper – stood to the side, waiting for her favorite person. Each time Wyldon would feel his heart twisting, but he pushed his feelings aside. He instead continued his normal duties, waiting until the king called on him for border patrol or some other assignment.
It was a month after Soren’s funeral when Eiralys came running to him, her light brown hair in tangles and her cheeks red. She had been outside in the cold, likely in the stables or kennels.
“Papa - Copper’s sick!” she cried.
He jumped up from his desk and followed her out to the kennels, ignoring the cold. She led him into the wooden structure, taking him to a corner where the bitch was lying, listless. Her abdomen was distended already.
“Go get your mother,” he said firmly. Vivenne wouldn’t be able to help, but it would get Eiralys out of the building.
Torsion was common in boarhounds, he knew. He had lost several dogs to this in the past – cutting open the abdomen and righting the twisted stomach had worked once. But once the stomach was distended, he knew there was little time left.
“Come on girl,” he pleaded, petting her. She had been fine that morning, when he had fed all the dogs. She whimpered low, her eyes pained. She began to seize uncontrollably.
It was over as quickly as it began; within moments she was dead in his arms, and Wyldon was shaking from the force of his own tears. He didn’t know how long he held her, but a warm hand touched his back.
“Wyl, let her go,” Vivenne said gently. “I can’t kneel down to hug you, so I really need you to stand.”
He did so, numbly, and she pulled him into as tight a hold as she could muster with her oversized belly. He dropped his head against her shoulder. “I can’t believe he’s gone,” he whispered between gulps of air, finally crying for the son he lost.
“I know, love,” she murmured through her own tears. “I know.”
I love the way you show Vivenne's reaction to his stoicism, and the loss of the dog being what finally gets him. ♥ Beautiful fic! 
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!