How burdenso it was to be the one who took his father-in-law to the small chapel at the end of the lands he once oversaw.
Henry made sure that his horse was well behaved and moved slowly as they went through the village. It was as good as an announcent for those outside and enjoying the beautiful weather they were having. Most knew by then that Arthur was sick.
There was sothing off about it being a wonderful sumr day while emotions heavier than the weight of winter snow sat on him and his new family’s shoulders. It was cruel to have to lift his hand and shield his eyes as he turned his head to look over the expansive valley south of Lord Arthur’s lands.
He made it to the chapel first, where he knocked on the door and summoned the very man who had sealed he and Irene’s vows the day before.
"Father, are you here?" Henry called.
The old man took a while to co out. After all, he was old—far older than Arthur and should have never seen the end of the life of soone so much younger.
"What is it, Your Grace?" the man asked.
Henry’s eyebrows were already knit together as he pulled through the emotion threatening to drag him down.
"My father-in-law has passed," Henry responded. "Lord Arthur is no longer with us."
The priest’s eyes widened, and he glanced at the wagon that Henry had brought with him.
"It can’t be," he uttered in disbelief. But then he cleared his throat. "I will make preparations. You can bring the small wagon inside through the larger doors."
As soon as Commander Lothian was there with Celia and Rochelle, he helped Henry with the small wagon. They brought it to the front of the chapel, between the rows of seating, and ready for Rochelle to dress him in his nicest clothing adorned with all his conquests in battle and bearing the Litharion seal.
The sheet was removed, and Rochelle had to pull herself together, or she would sob. Since Henry didn’t want to have to watch her struggle, he decided to step outside of the chapel, where he ended up pacing, occasionally glancing towards the foothills where he knew Irene was.
In his trek, he felt Commander Lothian stop him, and he turned to glance at the man, shocked he hadn’t even noticed him approaching.
"You’re easier to read than a book, as usual," Callum comnted. "Go to Irene. I can handle this here."
"Thank you," Henry responded, aning every word.
The knight was quick to mount his horse and take off to the hills, returning to the heart of the village then heading north knowing that it would take him to where his bride was. He didn’t expect anything from her—just didn’t want to see her suffering alone.
He let his horse go in the fields next to Irene’s, and from there, he hiked up the hill a ways until he found her crouched between the evergreens and slicing away at the branches, a bit more clumsily than usual.
"Irene?" he called to her gently.
However, a few steps closer revealed her slicing her own palm and not even acknowledging it at first.
"Irene!"
Henry tore the blade from her hands, and he pressed the bottom of his tunic into her palm. She seed to blink as reality returned to her. She must have been so distracted; he could only imagine what she must have been thinking.
Since her hand was handled, all Irene could do was drop the rest of the evergreens and lean into Henry, where she pressed her face into his chest and squeezed her eyes shut.
"I’m sorry," she whispered.
"Don’t be sorry," Henry quickly insisted. "But we should get this taken care of properly. I don’t have bandages with . Is there sothing in the house we could use?"
Irene nodded.
With his left hand squeezing his tunic against her wound, he managed to put away the hunting knife she had just hurt herself with. He had the urge to throw it deep into the forest after hurting soone who was so precious to him. He managed to resist as he lifted all the evergreen she had cut, and they stood up at the sa ti.
Henry dropped the branches in a pile next to the rosemary before he brought Irene to the house. She was particularly easy to control and completely silent. Admittedly, he didn’t like it because he knew that was not how she normally was.
As soon as they were inside, he opted to remove his shirt completely for her hand before he searched the place for redies, relieved to find a healing salve still fresh as if it was just made. Fortunately, fat or oil-based items lasted for years and years without issue.
As Henry approached her and crouched in front of her so he could take care of her hand, a faint smile pulled at his lips. Another reason he knew his wife wasn’t alright was that she was completely numbed to the sight of him shirtless. If it was any other situation, he might joke about that.
Instead, he reached up and pushed her hair out of her face.
"I hate to see you hurt," he muttered. "Physically... emotionally..."
She could only nod. There was nothing she could say. The only words she had were ones that condemned the world around her and all the unfairness that she was going to have to bury her father the following day based on Sünstoian customs.
Irene turned her head and her mouth pressed against his palm in a pathetic kiss. It was her thanks that he was there and taking care of her—a plea to wait for her until things could go back to normal.
Henry’s heart squeezed at the gesture. He then began to clean up her hand and place the salve that caused Irene to hiss in pain in the wound so that it would stop bleeding until Siverly could help. He wrapped it expertly and tightly, ensuring that it would hold for a while.
Instead of having Irene ride back to the chapel alone, he insisted that she sit on his lap as they went. To him, she wasn’t in the right state of mind, but he wouldn’t voice that.
As they arrived, he explained to Callum, sharing a horse with hers being pulled behind, "She hurt her hand."
The older knight rely nodded.
Wordlessly, Irene took all the items with her into the chapel. It was ti to arrange these things around her father, who had just been dressed, for his own funeral.
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