Chapter 20

The following morning a clearing of a throat awakens me. Struggling to open my eyes, I let them adjust and can make out Warren's form standing a few feet away from me. He holds a candlestick whose single flame dances freely on its end.

"It's the crack of dawn Warren," I say groggily and wipe the sleep away.

Warren inhales carefully and fidgets with a rolled parcel of paper in his hand—a message from a raven. Knowing that whatever words have been scribbled down must carry news that couldn't wait until breakfast, I push myself up from bed and swing both legs over, allowing my feet to rest on the cool floor. "What is it?" I ask, feeling my heart racing as each beat is carried throughout my body. I can count on one hand the amount of reasons someone would bring me word at this early hour—none of them good.

Warren steps closer and extends his arm, first handing me the parcel then the candlestick. Before unrolling the parchment, I gaze up at my friend and can see the dread he attempts to conceal. "I'm sorry," he whispers.

I give my head a shake, refusing to accept the news that he has brought me. Still, I carefully unroll the raven's message and read what Crispin has written. "Father is dead. He passed yesterday evening in his sleep painlessly thanks to the maesters. We knew this was coming, but that doesn't mean we aren't allowed to hurt. Stay strong for Rory, Tommy. The world is watching you now more than ever. Come home after the war so we can grieve in peace together. Crispin."

I read it again and again. My eyes well up and I blink tears away before they can fall and look at the date my youngest brother sent the raven. "My father's been dead for four days," I state out loud with a sniffle, "Four days and I...I've just been here doing nothing and..." I trail, trying to find something to blame myself for because no decent son becomes an orphan and carries on for four days as if all is right in the world. A good son would have somehow known his father had taken his final breaths.

Warren places a hand on my shoulder and kneels down onto one knee. Looking me in my eyes, he gives a shake of his head. "Don't guilt yourself for anything, Tommy. You did right by him for visiting him in the middle of war—there's nothing else you could have done for him, yeah?" he tells me.

Saying nothing, my thoughts turn towards Rory and how he is going to handle this news. He could hardly keep together when we said goodbye—unsure if it was going to be the last time we say him. Now that he is gone, how will he react? Out of my father's four children, it was Rory that loved him the most. "You haven't told him, have you?" I ask, not needing to specify his name.

Warren shakes his head. "No. I thought it would be best if it came from you."

Sighing, I ran a hand though my hair. "Right. Tell no one of this until I make an announcement. Afterwards I want all Paevian flags lowered to half-mast and will remain that way until the end of this damned war."

Warren stands and offers a slow bow—something rare as such formalities are typically nonexistent between the two of us unless we are at court. He then turns and exits my quarters, leaving me alone in the darkness of my tent. Closing my eyes, I roll the parchment with the tips of my fingers that carry words as dark as the wings that carried them. My eyes begin to well and I have to clamp down on my lower lip to keep it from quivering. Even though I knew this day would come—sooner rather than later—it does not negate the pain I feel as it swells in my chest. I allow myself a moment to cry...to grieve what was lost. Never again will I hear my father's voice or laugh, see his smile or the joy that his grandchildren brought him. Feel his warmth as he embraced me for the last time—instead his body now lies cold, perhaps he has already been laid to rest in his tomb next to my mother.

The temptation to crawl back into bed and think only of myself and to reminisce on memories beckons me, but I can't. I have duties to tend to today, the first one being with my brother.

"But you're king now, you can do whatever you want," a voice tells me and I quickly clamp down on that thought. I don't want to be that type of kingChapter 20:

The following morning a clearing of a throat awakens me. Struggling to open my eyes, I let them adjust and can make out Warren's form standing a few feet away from me. He holds a candlestick whose single flame dances freely on its end.

"It's the crack of dawn Warren," I say groggily and wipe the sleep away.

Warren inhales carefully and fidgets with a rolled parcel of paper in his hand—a message from a raven. Knowing that whatever words have been scribbled down must carry news that couldn't wait until breakfast, I push myself up from bed and swing both legs over, allowing my feet to rest on the cool floor. "What is it?" I ask, feeling my heart racing as each beat is carried throughout my body. I can count on one hand the amount of reasons someone would bring me word at this early hour—none of them good.

Warren steps closer and extends his arm, first handing me the parcel then the candlestick. Before unrolling the parchment, I gaze up at my friend and can see the dread he attempts to conceal. "I'm sorry," he whispers.

I give my head a shake, refusing to accept the news that he has brought me. Still, I carefully unroll the raven's message and read what Crispin has written. "Father is dead. He passed yesterday evening in his sleep painlessly thanks to the maesters. We knew this was coming, but that doesn't mean we aren't allowed to hurt. Stay strong for Rory, Tommy. The world is watching you now more than ever. Come home after the war so we can grieve in peace together. Crispin."

I read it again and again. My eyes well up and I blink tears away before they can fall and look at the date my youngest brother sent the raven. "My father's been dead for four days," I state out loud with a sniffle, "Four days and I...I've just been here doing nothing and..." I trail, trying to find something to blame myself for because no decent son becomes an orphan and carries on for four days as if all is right in the world. A good son would have somehow known his father had taken his final breaths.

Warren places a hand on my shoulder and kneels down onto one knee. Looking me in my eyes, he gives a shake of his head. "Don't guilt yourself for anything, Tommy. You did right by him for visiting him in the middle of war—there's nothing else you could have done for him, yeah?" he tells me.

Saying nothing, my thoughts turn towards Rory and how he is going to handle this news. He could hardly keep together when we said goodbye—unsure if it was going to be the last time we say him. Now that he is gone, how will he react? Out of my father's four children, it was Rory that loved him the most. "You haven't told him, have you?" I ask, not needing to specify his name.

Warren shakes his head. "No. I thought it would be best if it came from you."

Sighing, I ran a hand though my hair. "Right. Tell no one of this until I make an announcement. Afterwards I want all Paevian flags lowered to half-mast and will remain that way until the end of this damned war."

Warren stands and offers a slow bow—something rare as such formalities are typically nonexistent between the two of us unless we are at court. He then turns and exits my quarters, leaving me alone in the darkness of my tent. Closing my eyes, I roll the parchment with the tips of my fingers that carry words as dark as the wings that carried them. My eyes begin to well and I have to clamp down on my lower lip to keep it from quivering. Even though I knew this day would come—sooner rather than later—it does not negate the pain I feel as it swells in my chest. I allow myself a moment to cry...to grieve what was lost. Never again will I hear my father's voice or laugh, see his smile or the joy that his grandchildren brought him. Feel his warmth as he embraced me for the last time—instead his body now lies cold, perhaps he has already been laid to rest in his tomb next to my mother.

The temptation to crawl back into bed and think only of myself and to reminisce on memories beckons me, but I can't. I have duties to tend to today, the first one being with my brother.

"But you're king now, you can do whatever you want," a voice tells me and I quickly clamp down on that thought. Exhaling shakily, I stand and begin to get dressed opting for a clean pair of trousers, a white shirt, and my boots before adding on my leather arm bracers that smell of turpentine. Perhaps I should don something more formal today, but I simply do not have the motivation and cut myself some slack given the circumstances. Looking myself over in my mirror, I dip my hands in my wash bowl and wet my hair, slicking back my dark curls.

Pushing through the heavy canvas flap, I begin to make the short trek to Rory's tent. A few men who have already awoken and began their day greet me but I can't be bothered enough to reply and instead walk past them silently. As I near my brother's tent, I curse under my breath and chastise myself for not thinking about how exactly I would break the news.  When I'm a few feet away, I hear moans and sounds of pleasure come from within.

Pursing my lips, I clear my throat. "Rory. I need to speak with you," I state loudly. There is a pause from within and I hear Beth Ann give a giggle.

"Busy at the moment brother, can't it wait?" Rory replies.

His response angers me and I have to remind myself that he is unaware of the reasoning behind my interruption. "Fine, let him have these few last moments," I tell myself. "Meet me by the stables when you're done," I state before waiting for his response. As I walk through camp, I notice the sky has somewhat lightened as dawn approaches. The air is damp and thick marking that it will be a particularly humid day.

"Morning my prince," a blonde haired man named Michael greets. It's all I can do but to offer him a nod as I pass by and head towards the stables. When I finally reach it, I give the first one I come across a pat and lean against a wooden pillar as I wait for Rory to join, watching the sun slowly make its arrival. I do what I can to push all thoughts of my father out of my head as I wait. The last thing I want to do is break become hysterical for all to see—not that my men would think of me any less if I did. To keep my mind busy, I decide to think of Claire. Her kind spirit, the way she puts others before herself, and the charming way she frowns when puzzled.

Now that I'm unofficially king, the matter of marriage is more pressing than ever. Soon I'll have to take a wife whether I like it or not, but if it was someone like Claire—or Claire herself—I wouldn't mind so much. She isn't highborn or a lady, but does that really matter? Crispin wed a common thief, and Cora has made a fine wife for him as I knew she would from the moment I met her. All of Paevia respects her, adores her even.  Who is to say they wouldn't do the same of Claire?

Still, there is the fact that she is a woman of the cloth and I doubt that she has any intentions on ever marrying, especially a man such as myself. She deserves better. A man who has not bloodied his hands with thousands of men, one who has not taken hundreds of lives. Someone she could be proud of. Someone who shares her beliefs.

"You could though, if you wanted," I think to myself before allowing a shrug. Christianity is intriguing to me and I think it gives its followers many noble qualities such as being forgiving and being more honest than most—all of which I have seen firsthand from the group of nuns, even father Anthony.

A cough gains my attention and I see Rory making his way towards me, carelessly kicking up dirt as he drags his feet in the earth. He fiddles with his belt buckle and offers me a wave before yawning. "A bit early for a conversation if you ask me," he says, folding his arms across his chest. His hair is tied back in a high bun, his beard damp with gods know what.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I search my mind for the best choice of words to tell him. His thick brows furrow together as he picks up that something is wrong. "What is it? Have you been crying?" he asks, peering closer. My eyes still must be irritated from this morning.

A horse nickers behind me and I come up with an idea. "Let's go for a ride?" I suggest, thinking that it would be best if the two of us had no chance of an audience. I'm thankful for the small amount of privacy I had in my quarters earlier, even if it was brief.

Rory gives a curt shake of his head. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's wrong," he states, "You're acting strange so obviously it's important."

Pursing my lips, I run a hand through my hair. "I think it's best if we-" I start, but he cuts me off.

"Out with it Thomas," he orders and I can see that worry is not etched onto his face.

There is a long pause between us as I try to say the words. Swallowing, I look down at my dust covered boots and dig out the parchment of paper from my pocket. "Father is dead, Rory," I say, holding out the message for him to read. His face lightens a shade and his eyes immediately begin to water.

"You lie," he says.

Now it's my turn to shake my head in disbelief. "Why would I lie about such a thing, Rory? It's true—whether we want to believe it or not. A raven came in the night. Warren-" I start, but he cuts me off again with a powerful shove. I lose my footing and crash backwards on to the ground, landing on my rear. Rory stands above me and takes two fistfuls of my shirt, jerking my forward to where our faces are only inches apart.

"YOU LIE!" he screams causing spittle to land on my cheek. His green eyes blink away tears and my own follow suit, silently pleading for our pain to somehow vanish. He releases me and staggers backwards, searching wildly for an escape before landing on his horse a few stalls down. Before I can react, he sprints towards his horse and unhitches him. In one swift motion he pulls himself up and clicks his teeth, disappearing bareback into the adjacent forest leaving me in the dirt.

I feel my bottom lip begin to quiver and I suck it in, tearing my gaze away from the tree line. Grasping a rock a few feet near me, I pick it up and with all my might throw it into the direction he went in, letting out a frustrated yell.

A part of me feels like a child again when father would leave for war and put me in charge of my siblings except this time he is never coming back.

Suddenly I feel alone.

Closing my eyes, I push myself up from the ground and brush myself off doing my best to keep my composure. Rory is capable at looking after himself, but can he in whatever state he is in? That I do not know.

"Are you going to follow him?" I hear someone ask softly. I jerk my head to my left and see Warren make his way from camp towards me. He must have been watching from a distance. "I apologize for the intrusion but I thought it would be best to keep watch in case...well, you know how he can be."

I give a slow nod and turn back towards the pine forest, my eyes searching for my brother. A thin mist has formed in certain areas, tendrils reaching upwards as the cool air mixes with the day's moisture.  "If he doesn't show back up by dinner I'll send a few men to look for him. I think it's best to give him some time to process things for now," I say, unsure if my own advice is any good. Turning back to Warren, I meet his gaze. "How do I look?" I ask, pointing to my face. If Rory could tell I had been crying I'm sure it's even more obvious now.

He gives an easy smile and shakes his head. "Why don't you take a few moments with the horses and join us for breakfast after?" he suggests.

Pressing my lips together I offer a lazy smirk. "Right," I agree. As Warren turns on his heels and makes his way towards the others I call out, "You're a good friend. Thank you."

Warren turns around gives me a reassuring nod. "Your words are appreciated, Tommy. You'll get through this—you all will," he says before leaving me to my thoughts.

Sighing, I take a few steadying breaths to collect myself and decide to make myself useful. Grabbing a brush that hangs on a nail, I begin to tend to the horses. I find it soothing and wonder if I prefer the company of horses over men—at least I do today. Running my hands over the stallion's powerful thigh, I give him a good scratch between his ears and he presses his muzzle into my shoulder and closes his eyes. Giving a low chuckle, I begun to untangle his mane with my fingers. When I'm done, I return the brush to where I found it and decide it's time to join the others. Besides, the stable hands will be heading this way any moment to begin their day's work to pick up where I left off.

I take my time walking to breakfast and silently join the end of the short line. When I take my bowl of steamed oats from James I say nothing and search for an empty table finding none. As my eyes scan for the least populated, my eyes lock with Claire's and her face flushes. My feet begin to automatically move towards her. When I'm close enough she begins to scoot over as much as she can to allow me room but she's hardly moved at all. Without saying a word, I take her hand and pull her up allowing her to collect what's left of her breakfast before leading her to a table in the far corner. It's only occupied by three other men—all who greet me with surprise. I give them a curt nod and sit down, taking a large bite of my food.

Claire stands there confused and places her bowl across from me. She takes a long look at me and leans forward. "Is something wrong Thomas?" she asks in her kind voice.

Automatically I raise a hand in fear that my eyes will begin to water at the question alone. "Don't," I say sternly before adding, "please."

Her mouth opens then closes as if she is about to ask another question before deciding against it. We eat in silence and throughout her eyes periodically glance up at me with a worried expression. I know it is not right to treat her this way and that I'll have to apologize later, but for the time being I don't care.

Warren makes an announcement that all are to remain seated until further notice and the air fills with curious whispers.

Once I finish my food I stare at the rough surface of the table and run my fingers over the grooves doing my best to collect my thoughts and emotions. I feel Claire's eyes on me as she watches with concern but I say nothing. Minutes tick by and when I can put it off no longer I take a steadying breath and stand up. The men must have known they were waiting on me because as soon as I do they fall silent, sitting up straighter in their seats. I debate on whether or not I should stand on-top of the table but decide against it. "Those that can't hear the news will soon enough by others," I think.

Taking a steadying breath, I look at the thousands of faces that watch me and clear my throat. "King Robert is dead," I begin. "Tis no secret that his health was declining and I'm thankful for you all holding down our camp while my brother and I made a trip back to visit him. I'll be honest, I wasn't sure if that would be the final time I got to see him or not...I was looking forward to returning with the hopeful news of a victory but, well..." I trail, wondering what words I should say. "When my mother died, my father was grief stricken. It didn't help that he lost many close friends on the battlefield over the following year either. But each day, he forced himself to get out of bed and chase us hellions down the halls in-between hearings and council meetings," I say, earning a wave of chuckles and some of the older men who remember nod their heads, smiling as the reminisce.

Feeling the familiar sting in my eyes, I quickly wipe them with the back of my hand and continue. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that he taught me an important lesson that I only realized until a few years back: even our most profound heartbreaks are survivable, in all aspects including loss. Today, that is a loss of a parent. A king."

Biting the inside of my cheek, I give a shrug. "I was hoping that Rory would be standing here with me, but he's decided that he needs to be alone at the moment. That being said, if no one has seen him by nightfall I'll need to send a few men out to look for him if there are any volunteers?" Hundreds of hands shoot up and a smile forms to my lips. I give a slow nod of appreciation. There is little I have left to say, so I give a bow and turn on my heel, quickly making my way over towards the training area in hopes that it'll provide a much needed distraction.

For the next few hours, I throw myself into training. My grief is released through each swing of my blade and each counter I manage to accomplish. I skip lunch and decide that my body needs a break to recover, I exchange my sword for a bow and head off into the woods to see what game I can find for dinner. Gale, Sven, and Nik insist they join me, but with a swift shake of my head they understand that the pines will offer me what I need--privacy to grieve.

It's no surprise that after an hour and a half I have nothing to show as the occasional sound of a choked back sob escapes my lips. Giving up, I pause at a stream and rest my forehead on my knees and do my best to control the guttural sounds my throat threatens to make. "If you are to cry now is the time to do it."

And so I do.

My fingers dig into the earth repeatedly as I mourn for my father...allow myself to feel the pain of my siblings, my country, and my own. I'm not sure how much time passes but when I finally look up I see I am face to face with a doe and her fawn, both watch me curiously. Glancing down to my left at my bow, I decide against reaching for it. The fawn blinks before stepping forward and begins to lap at the stream while the doe never takes her eyes off me. When the fawn has it's fill, the two turn and bound off into a group of ferns before disappearing in the greenery.

Sighing, I give my head a shake and wash my hands free of dirt in the cool water before splashing my face with the liquid. Evening will soon be upon us and my gut tells me that Rory has yet to return. Slinking my bow over my shoulder, I fasten the sheath behind me and begin my trek back to camp, keeping my eye out for my brother to no avail.

As the encampment finally comes to view, I'm surprised to see the courtesans large wagon parked next to the stables, their maroon covered wagon serving as a beacon to my men. Pausing, I scan the area for Warren, finding him standing by the butcher's table with ten men surrounding him. Walking over, he informs me that they are the men he chose for the search party. With their horses saddled and packed, they promise they will be back by morning--hopefully with Rory in tow. Giving them my thanks, I bid the farewell and head over to the line for food where all insist I skip and take a hearty bowl. I do, and mutter a thank you to Claire as she hands me the hot broth the women prepared. Max walks over and offers a full tankard of ale which I take and throw back with ease. He chuckles and offers me his own before patting me on my shoulder and walks away.

Sighing, I choose a random table and begin to sip on my meal, noting the flavors of onion and garlic in the hot liquid. It's good.

Men trickle by offering brief condolances and I pretend as if it matters to me but in truth, their words fall on deaf ears. Perhaps in a few days I will appreciate their "I'm sorry's" but for the time being I want to forget it ever happened.

Picking up my tankard, I drink deeply until it's empty and let out a burp. A pair of small hands cover my eyes and I hear two women giggle from behind me. "Guess who?" it's owner says in her must sultry tone and I can feel her breasts as they press against my back. Not in the mood for games, I sit my tankard down and firmly remove the hands.

She lets out a huff and steps around, her dark eyes tightening when they meet mine as her partner places a fresh tankard in front of me before sitting down to my right. Anya decides the best option for her is my lap and straddles me so we face forwards. Tossing her dark braid over her shoulder, she adjusts her body so we have only a few inches of space between us. "Long time no see," she purs.

"Anya," I greet cooly. The last time she visited our camp I took her to my bed for the night and I guess the gesture made her believe that we two are somehow, what, friends? Lovers?

Her friend, a raven haired woman with pale blue eyes, rests her hand on my knee giving it a squeeze. She's a pretty thing, but young--too young. "It's a pleasure to meet you my prince. I'm Nadine." Immediately my eyes flicker to where I last saw Claire and I see that she is watching our interaction with a hurt expression. Tearing her eyes away, she hands out another bowl of broth.

Anya forces a frown and runs a slim finger under my chin away from the direction of Claire. "I'm sorry about your father. I only ever heard good things about the great King Robert," she says, brushing over my lips with her thumb. I look down at her own briefly, finding them painted with makeup. Nadine picks up the tankard she brought me and hands it to me which I take and drink from.

"Thanks, but I'm not interested," I say leaning backwards. Anya takes the collar of my shirt and holds me still, slightly grinding herself against my groin.

"You said that last time and then we spent a beautiful night together soon after," she says with a small laugh causing her ample breasts to bounce before me. Standing up, Nadine moves behind me and begins to massage my sore shoulders with the perfect amount of pressure. Training took more than its toll today on my body.

Looking over at Claire, I try to gain her attention but she avoids my direction all together.

Anya leans then leans forward and whispers in my ear, "Let us be your distraction if only for a moment." Her breath is warm and sweet, caressing my skin and as much as I hate to admit it, there is a stirring in my pants.

Giving my head a shake, I try to stand up but she doesn't budge. "I said I'm not interested," I repeat. Nadine's fingers dig deeper as they release a knot. Anya looks down slowly before meeting my gaze again. "Something tells me you don't mean that, my prince."

Catching onto her meaning, Nadine lets out a beautiful laugh and leans forward, purposefully brushing her body against mine as she reaches for her own tankard.

"I'm a man, what did you think was going to happen" I mutter annoyed, looking once again in Claire's direction only to find her no longer standing behind the serving table.

Anya snakes her arms around my neck and tilts her head sideways. "You know Nadine, I think it is even bigger than I remember," she whispers loud enough for me to hear on purpose. Grunting, I turn towards her to demand that she gets off me but before I can speak she places her lips against mine and almost immediately attempts to deepen the kiss.

For a second, I pause and wonder if this is the distraction I need this evening. A woman's warmth surely will keep away the sadness my heart demands to be felt, will it not? Perhaps, but it's not the woman that is perched atop me that will do the trick, nor the one behind me digging her talons into my back.

I place my hands on each side of Anya's hips and she lets a sound of relief, believing that I have given in to her. On the contrary, I hoist her off of me and place her on top of the table as I gain my feet. Shrugging Nadine's hands off my shoulders, I step backwards and shake my head, letting out a frustrated exhale. "Look," I begin, not wanting to hurt the woman's feelings. They are only trying to earn a living after all. "You two are beautiful, but as I stated: I'm not interested."

Anya frowns and crosses her arms over her chest, letting out a huff. Turning on my heel, I make my way to the nuns that still serve broth. As I draw near, Darla's dark eyes tighten--undoubtedly aware of the reason why Claire disappeared into night.

"Where is she?" I ask, cocking a brown. Darla presses her lips together and silently hands a soldier a bowl. "If you would have been paying attention a few moments ago, you'd know that it wasn't what it looked like," I add.

Darla's gaze moves to where Anya still pouts on top of the table before shifting to Nadine who is already working on another man. Letting out a sigh, she nods her head towards Claire's tent. "She said she didn't care to watch and went to bed."

Thanking her, I quickly make my way through camp, passing a few fires and tents until finally arriving to hers. As I open my mouth, I hear a sniffle sound from inside. A wave of guilt washes over me for causing her pain and I feel my shoulders slouch. "Claire?" I call out softly. A fire is lit a few meters away, providing a warm glow across the adjacent tents. "I'm really sorry you had to see that, but I promise you..." I trail, fiddling with my hands. "It was nothing. They are nothing."

I wait for a moment to see if she is going to respond, and as I'm about to give up she opens the flap of her tent and steps outside. She wears only her night shiv, her red hair falling down her shoulders in auburn waves. "It didn't seem that way," she says in a soft voice. "In fact, it seems like you two were already well acquainted."

Sighing, I run a hand through my hair and nod. "We have been in the past, yes" I say truthfully. "But as soon as they tried to join me I told them I was not interested. Three times in fact. If you would have stayed a few moments longer you would have seen for yourself," I say before sighing. "I know you probably don't believe me--I wouldn't either if I were in your shoes given my history. But I promise you Claire, the woman I want to be with tonight is you and not even in that way. I'm perfectly content just being in your company. After the day I've had I've wanted nothing but to be alone," I continue, feeling somewhat emotional after the day's events. "But I don't want to anymore. I'm sorry for not being kind to you today as well, for what it's worth."

Claire looks up at me, searching my eyes for the truth which she must find. Pursing her lips, she takes me by the hand and leads me inside.

"Take off your boots," she instructs, releasing her hold on me. Walking over to her bedroll she climbs inside before nodding me over to join her.

My eyes widen. "Claire I'm flattered, but I don't think that bedding you is a good idea for either of us tonight."

Her face flushes and she smiles, shaking her head. "Don't get ahead of yourself. I'm still a woman of the cloth, but there is nothing in the Bible stating that I cannot comfort a friend...no matter how handsome her is."

Smirking, I nod and remove my boots as I was told before joining her, making sure I do not join her underneath her covers.

I lay next to her in silence for a few moments, collecting my thoughts and remembering the words that the raven carried once again. Closing my eyes, I try to take a steady breath but it hitches in my throat.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asks in a gentle whisper.

I give my head a shake and blink a tear away. "I'm not really sure what to even say. My dad's...dead," I whisper back. Saying the words out loud causes my throat to tighten and I try not to audibly cry, ashamed if I do.

Claire seems to sense this because she scoots closer and pulls me in to where my head rests on her chest. "Don't be embarrassed to feel what you feel Thomas. You can cry if you want to, it's only me," she says softly.

I fight it at first but in the end I allow myself to be vulnerable with her. I cry as quietly as I can. She helps by offering soothing sounds and by humming a tune. She runs her fingers through my hair, wiping my tears away periodically. She mourns with me eventually--perhaps remembering loved ones of her own that she has lost over time. We take turns whispering sweet nothings in the other's ear, pausing when I decide to share a few cherished memories of my father. Time passes slowly, for which I am thankful. As painful as these moments are between the two of us I find myself cherishing them. When I'm all cried out, I finally drift off to sleep still laying on her chest.

A/N: Long chapter (sorry) but I truly hope you enjoyed it!! I found it hard to write as I'm not good at portraying the emotions of others, especially as someone who is still lucky enough to still have both parents alive, but I hope I did Thomas (and countless of others) justice.

Happy New Year!!!!!!!