Chapter Text
Zerxus rises and dons robes of black; they are simple clothes, and heavy, but Zerxus’ hands don’t start to shake until he straps on some of his armor.
It is his first time wearing the garb of the First Knight. He’s not in full armor, either, but he puts on the bracers, doing the straps awkwardly with one hand.
It would be easier if someone else was there to help him. Everything would be easier if there was someone there to help him.
The house is still quiet when Zerxus leaves his room, and for that, Zerxus is grateful. He can be alone in his grief, can be weary and broken, for a little while longer.
He should make breakfast or coffee. He should rouse Elias, so they’re not rushed later this morning. The day ahead will be long and exhausting, and there is much to do.
Zerxus sits at the kitchen table with his head in his hands.
He’s distinctly aware of a few things; hot tears dripping down his nose, the pressure of his palms against his eyes. He doesn’t move, not when his muscles start to ache, not even when the front door opens and footsteps approach.
“Is Elias awake yet?”
It’s Cerrit. Zerxus shakes his head before dropping his gaze again. Cerrit gives a nod and disappears in the direction of the bedchambers, and then Nydas is there, and he sits down next to Zerxus, and they stay there in silence.
Nydas reaches out and takes Zerxus’ hand, squeezing tightly. Zerxus looks at him, trying to muster some appreciation for the gesture, for being there, but can’t bring himself to show it. Nydas only smiles at him, sadly, and brushes some of Zerxus’ hair out of his face.
After a minute, Cerrit remerges from the hallway, Elias half swallowed by his wings, clinging to Cerrit in a way that must be painful for someone with feathers. Wordlessly, Zerxus extends his arms, and Elias reaches for him too. Zerxus takes his son into his embrace, and Elias curls against him, nestling against his chest and under his chin. Zerxus holds him close.
The two other men prepare breakfast for them. Father and son sit in silence, unmoving even as plates are placed in front of them. Cerrit takes Elias again so that Zerxus’ hands are free, but he doesn’t stir.
“Eat, Zerxus,” Nydas says, exhausted. He glances pointedly at Elias, who isn’t touching his food either.
Zerxus takes a single bite of breakfast and chews until the food turns to ash in his mouth. Elias takes a bite too. Zerxus watches and then makes a concentrated effort to swallow.
He manages a few more bites; Elias clears his own plate. It’s silent until Cerrit takes away the dishes. “Good job,” he praises Elias, sounding as level as ever. “Would you like me to help Elias get dressed, or would you like to?”
“I can do it,” Zerxus says. The sound of his voice surprises him. It’s low, raspy. He can’t remember the last time he had to talk.
“Good,” Cerrit says again. Zerxus rises stiffly and retreats to Elias’ room, his son following behind him. At some point, a black shirt and pants had appeared for Elias to wear. Although Elias is beyond old enough to dress himself, Zerxus makes sure he dons the appropriate clothes and that his hair is combed. He looks presentable, handsome.
He looks like Evandrin. There is a lump in his throat. As Elias finishes getting ready, Zerxus turns away.
The funeral is long. Many people speak about Evandrin, his accomplishments, his bravery and valor. He sits in the front row with Elias and pretends to listen, and tries not to look at his friends.
He’s nauseous, really, when he sees Patia and Laerryn. These women, their friends, powerful and trusted, who could not save Evandrin when he became so sick. Patia, who sends him furtive glances when she thinks Zerxus is too preoccupied to notice. Laerryn, who leans heavily on Quay and cries silently the whole time, and who doesn’t look at him even when Quay offers their condolences afterwards.
Then there’s Cerrit, who holds Elias when Zerxus’ arms go numb, who leaves them only twice to go check on Wrayne and Maya.
And Nydas, who stands beside him the whole time. Who greets people and talks and says thank you for coming, he would have loved that you were here when Zerxus cannot. Who will take off his bracers and robes and tuck him into the too-big, now-empty bed later that night.
And Elias, who hides his face in Zerxus’ chest during the eulogies. Who cries when Patia’s voice cracks during her eulogy, but otherwise stays quiet and red-eyed, who glances into his father’s face and sees no tears.
After the funeral is the memorial, which Patia is kind enough to host- mostly, Zerxus knows that he can’t, that every well-wish will be hollow when they are, in their most basic function, attempts at comfort in a world where Evandrin is dead.
It’s an hour of this before Zerxus needs a break. Patia is thanking people for coming, and Nydas is doing his best to be gracious and kind while Zerxus is silent, and people and strangers and acquaintances are speaking about Evandrin and their family, and it is so, so empty.
Zerxus gathers Elias into his arms, and escapes into a side garden. There are tall flowers that hide them from the view of any windows, so Zerxus finds a secluded bench, and when Elias starts to sob, Zerxus cries with him.
They return home late that afternoon, somehow more exhausted than before. It’s just Nydas who escorts them, although Wrayne promises to bring by dinner later. Elias retires to his room early, without saying goodnight. Zerxus lets him go.
When evening falls, Zerxus cannot sleep, and so he rises, and paces the hallways of his home before finally settling down on their small porch outside. He sits, and he watches the evening sky. It is moonless, and the stars are brighter than usual.
He did this, so many years ago, on the night he first met the love of his life. They stared up at the night sky and kissed until the dawning light of the sun lightened the horizon.
Zerxus stands, and retreats to their small office, gathering a pen and a notebook before returning outside. He wipes the tears from his cheeks, puts ink to paper, and writes of a night long ago, when he watched the stars and his life changed forever.