Difference between revisions of "Logs:My Own Worst Enemy"

She eventually made it to the living cavern and pulled herself together enough to do as she ought and show her face, accepting bland commentary about the hatching and supplying just as bland answers. Anything that slipped towards referencing what she couldn't bear to think about if she wanted to stay standing, she excused herself from, or, in the more extreme cases, just walked away and ignored. That she was there and being as polite as she possibly could - that tears were not in command of her the way they had been for an hour or more would have to be enough for anyone who held the expectation that she would be present.

The glass of wine, she took without thinking (and thinking too much) and it did nothing to ease the pain in her stomach. The nausea, now born of too many sources, had become more apparent the more she refused to give into it, and the wine was the last thing added to the mix that gave her body the excuse to overrule her mind. At least it wasn't in public, her feet having walked her to the Infirmary instinctively, but she'd rather not have given the healers the excuse to start in on the lecture they'd already given her twice.

« ...Hattie? Was it my fault? Could I have stopped her? » Her queen's voice was a timid whisper, darkness surrounding shallow waters.

Her. No-one would know her name. No-one had heard the little green speak. Perhaps it would make it easier for Elaruth to forget, though Hattie knew that they would be going through the cycle of inadvertently reminding each other for days to come. She couldn't lock everything away from her. She couldn't lock this away from her; not well enough.

No, darl. No-one could have. She believed that. She had to.

Obediently, she listened to the healers, unable to summon the will to argue. She agreed with them. She did. It was just that what they wanted from her and what she should do wasn't possible yet, not in its entirety.

She trailed back to the living cavern and survived another ten minutes or so of small-talk, until the need to be with Elaruth became too overwhelming to fight. It would be better, for Elaruth (she told herself), not to hear any more of the whispers and low-voiced comments that she tried to block out and attempted to eliminate from her memory the moment she heard them.

Arriving back on the ledge that led to home, the sight of her queen more grey than gold brought back too many awful memories to process. Buckling beneath them, physically, was the only option the world gave her, and, immobilised, she knotted her arms around her middle and sank to the ground to bury her head in her knees.

Her usual coping mechanism, to push through and carry on until too exhausted to do anything but submit to a dreamless, heavy sleep, wasn't available to her this time. She couldn't let herself take that path. Down that road led more grief, hard on the heels of this one.

If they were able, they'd go to the Healer Hall in the morning. Do as Tess said. Find someone to prevent her from being her own worst enemy. She - they - couldn't lose another child.

« You will be cold... » Elaruth slowly slipped from the wallow and closed the short distance between them, to curl around her and shield her from both the elements and prying eyes.

From the security of her queen's embrace, what rose from the haze of their shared grief seemed so simple. She had looked to Elaruth and N'muir and Bijedth and forgotten that anyone else existed in that awful moment of pain. She hadn't cared who would see or what they thought, or whether they would judge them. She had looked to them. It had been that clear; her first instinct.

She knew what she had to do.

She knew what she wanted to do.

She just had to keep going a little while longer.