Ymiden 24, Arc 718
He was exhausted. The trial had been uncomfortably warm and standing by the forge all day had only made it worse. He was covered in soot and sweat, with a few new burns on his arms to add to the already large collection. Simple slips or bumps with the tongs, but still annoying. Even worse was the long walk home--about a break of dragging his feet before the old stone cottage even come into view.
He paused at the crest of the hill, looking down at it. It had been in the family for arcs as something of a little getaway courtesy of the Baron himself for his father's arcs of loyal service. Often it was used by his parents when they wanted to enjoy the river or his father wanted to go fishing. Knowing the old man now lay ill inside made it significantly less welcoming.
The evening sun glared down on his neck though, so there wasn't much else to do except retreat down the path and into the old house. Jonathan wiped his boots on the woven rug lying in the entry and heaved a loud sigh. It was significantly cooler inside. Considerably darker too, he realized. No candles had been lit in a while it seemed. He took a few steps into the single open room and looked around.
"Father?" His voice sounded too loud in the silence and there was no answer.
His stomach twisted and he moved deeper into the room, peering into the gloom. Two feet were sticking out from behind the far side of the old man's bed on the floor. Jon's heart was immediately in his throat he rushed across the combined sitting and eating area to the empty hearth and bed. He knocked the dining table out of the way in his mad dash, catching it with his hip, and it sent him sprawling onto the floor on his belly. He hurried to his hands and knees, crawling the rest of the way.
Morgan was still and quiet as he lay on his side on the cool wooden floor. Jonathan scooped the older man up in his arms, supporting him in his lap, gripping him by the shoulders.
"Father, wake up," he urged, giving him a little shake. "Father! Wake up!" Another shake, a little harder this time.
His head lolled and Jon quickly supported it, whimpering with frustration. He pressed his ear to his father's chest, lips pursed, listening closely. He dared not make a sound, and held his own breath. There it was--the soft thump of a heartbeat. The pent up breath left him in a loud, relieved sigh. Still, his father was unresponsive and that was no good. Jon carefully scooped him up in both arms and slowly rose to his feet. Morgan used to be a large man--larger than life, but he'd wasted away these past arcs to just a shell of his former self. He felt frail and small bundled in his son's grasp.
Jon shifted, carefully laid his father back on the bed, and pulled the discarded blanket up to his shoulders. His face looked almost sallow in the shadows of the house. Jonathan fetched a nearby candle, lit it, and sat it on the small bedside table. The flickering light made him look deathly. Almost skeletal. Jon swallowed the lump in his throat.
"Father," he started quietly, leaning down and laying a hand over the old man's pale forehead. It was cool to the touch. "Father I'll return shortly. I'm going to fetch the doctor."
There was no answer. Jon rose and quickly exited the house, jogging briskly back toward the direction of the fort.
A few breaks later
"How is he?" Jon all but yelled, distraught and pacing around the small space.
"Unwell," the doctor mumbled as he peeled open the old man's eyelid to examine his pupil, one after the other.
"I know that, dammit!"
"Then why ask such a question?"
He had no response for that. The doctor sighed after the brief silence.
"Your father is dying, you know?"
"Yes." A reluctant and painful acknowledgement.
"There isn't anything I can do for him except make him more comfortable."
Jon was silent again, but he nodded. A tea had been brewing for some time over the fire and the doctor moved to take it off the heat.
"I will give him willow bark for the pain and to help ease any fever he might develop after I leave. That's all I can do for him in this state. His cancer is far too advanced for anything else."
He poured a small cup and supported Morgan's head to poise the brim carefully against his lips. He still hadn't woken. The doctor poured the tea slowly into his mouth in small increments, alternating with massaging his throat to encourage him to swallow. After giving him a few cups, he carefully laid the old man's head back on the pillow.
"I will leave the rest of the tea with you. It can be served cold. You may give him more in a few breaks, or if he becomes restless."
With that, the doctor rose and moved toward the door. He paused briefly by Jon, who had sat defeated in one of the old dining chairs. A hand rested briefly on his shoulder. The physician's eyes softened ever-so-slightly.
"I'm sorry, Jonathan." And then he was gone.
Some time later
A few rapid knocks broke the still silence of the house. Jonathan stirred in his seat. He hadn't moved from the dining chair while he watched his father's chest rise and fall in slow, shallow breaths. More knocks, louder this time. They were impatient. Jon stood, his chair scraping across the floor. His knees ached from sitting for so long, and he braced a hand on the table when they protested. Another round of pounding. He stepped over to the doorway and pulled the latch on the door.
His uncle stood on the threshold, first raised, ready to beat on it some more. He looked surprised to see Jon's face, or maybe that he'd been inside and not said anything.
"I almost didn't think you were home. I was about to break down the door. I kept knocking.
"I heard you," he said flatly.
Jon glanced over his uncle's shoulder. His aunt and nephew were there, looking worried. He stepped out of the way, motioning for them to come in and they didn't hesitate.
"Jon, where i--" his uncle began but paused when his eyes fell on his older brother. "Oh Morgan," he murmured, immediately moving to his bedside and sitting down.
The frame creaked under the additional weight. Lyssa, his aunt, wrapped her arms around him, and his nephew hesitated in the doorway before finally shutting out the dark night.
"I'm so sorry we couldn't be here sooner dear. The doctor stopped by after he left here and told us everything."
She looked up at him with watery eyes and he felt the first cracks starting to break his facade. Jonathan rested his hands on her narrow shoulders and gave them a brief squeeze. He even tried to offer a smile, but it was more of a grimace.
"There's no reason to apologize. You came as fast as you could." He cleared his throat, swallowing the lump that was forming. "He would be glad knowing you all were here."
His uncle Damien had one of his father's hand's clasped firmly between his own. His nephew Jacob shuffled restlessly. Jonathan held out a hand to the young boy.
"Come here, I haven't seen you in a fortnight."
The boy moved closer, obviously relieved to some sort of instruction, and Jonathan tousled his hair with a swift swipe. Lyssa moved away to join her husband, and Jacob hovered by his uncle.
"Is granpap dyin'?" the boy asked bluntly, and his parents glanced uncertainly at each other.
"Aye," Jonathan said softly, wrapping an arm around the boy's shoulder.
"Is he in pain?"
"Not right now, no."
"That's good."
"Mmm," Jon murmured, watching his aunt and uncle fret over his father.
Another break later
"Jonathan, get over here," his uncle snapped.
He rose quickly from the table where he'd been showing his nephew some old knives. The boy watched nervously from his chair as Jon rushed to over his father's bedside. His father was stirring slightly, kicking weakly at the covers and breathing heavily.
He reached out to something and Jon grabbed his hand. Damien still held the other firmly. Morgan opened his eyes for a moment--it was the first Jon had seen him do it since finding him on the floor--and his gaze darted around the room.
"Father? Father! We're right here. What do you need?"
Morgan's eyes turned to him, but they were unfocused. He wasn't really looking at him. He wasn't even sure if he had heard him. Yet Jonathan was transfixed. He was still as stone, staring into the unseeing gaze of a dying man. Those familiar blue eyes wavered and he blinked a few times, opened his mouth, closing it again.
"It's alright," Jonathan soothed, placing a hand on his father's forehead.
Morgan sighed heavily, slowly stopping his struggle. He searched the ceiling, eyes flickering yet unseeing, and after a moment even that stopped. He grew still, and in place of the soft sound of his swift breaths was a new silence. He was gone.
