The world had gone quiet.
"Please…" Tirian's voice was hoarse, worn down to something fragile. "Orielle, you have to leave…"
Her breath hitched against his back, a small, broken sob escaping her. "N… no," she stammered, her voice trembling despite the stubbornness clinging to it. "I'm… I'm not leav—leaving you."
The words didn't comfort him. They shattered him. Orielle… you deserve so much more… so much better than this… than me…
The strength left his legs without warning. He collapsed to his knees.
His hands found hers blindly, almost desperately, gripping them as though they were the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely. His forehead dropped forward, pressing into her arms as his chest heaved, uneven, broken breaths tearing through him.
The sobs came—silent, shaking slightly through his entire body. Orielle didn't pull away, she only held him tighter. Even as she trembled. Even as fear still clung to her.
Her arms tight around him, her smaller frame wrapping around the weight of him, anchoring the ruin of a king who no longer had the strength to stand on his own.
For the first time since the crown had touched his head… Tirian stopped holding it in. Everything that happened, was raw and unrestrained. Every life he had taken. Every choice that had led him here. Every moment that had carved him into something he no longer recognized.
The monster he feared, he felt it fully now. And he couldn't hide from it any longer.
Orielle was still trembling. He could feel it in the way her hands shook against him, in the uneven rhythm of her breath. And yet, she stayed, her desperation seeming just as strong as his, to be there and not let go.
And in that moment, Tirian realized something, Strength wasn't what he thought it was. It wasn't power. It wasn't the ability to conquer, to destroy, to endure without breaking.
Because he had done all of that… And still, he had fallen apart. But her— She stood here, shaking, afraid… and still chose to stay. Still chose him, a quiet, unyielding kind of courage he had never possessed. To stand against her own fear
Tirian's grip on her tightened, as if afraid she might disappear if he let go. Because in this moment, he was the only thing keeping him here.
The only thing tethering him to something beyond the blood, beyond the prophecy, beyond the endless weight of what he had done.
Not as a king.
Not as a weapon.
But as something human. And for the first time, he wanted to hold onto that, to fight for it, for her, with her.
*****
Two weeks later, the royal corridors remained unnaturally still.
No voices lingered. No footsteps echoed. Even the air felt heavy—tainted. The faint metallic scent from the throne room still clung to the palace despite relentless scrubbing.
Orielle moved quietly down the hall, a single candle in her hand. Its flame flickered with every step, casting long, trembling shadows across the marble walls.
As she passed the throne room, her steps slowed. Her gaze shifted—drawn, unwillingly—to the dais. To the place where Torvax had fallen.
Her fingers tightened around the candle holder, the metal biting into her skin. She drew in a slow, steady breath, forcing it down, forcing herself forward.
Then she continued. The Council Chamber door stood half-open ahead.
Inside, the room was smaller than the throne hall, quieter, more contained—but no less burdened. A circular table sat at its center, scattered with scrolls, maps.
Tirian stood near the far wall. His cloak hung loosely over his shoulders, his posture slightly slouched despite himself. One hand pressed against his temple as he stared at the wall—not really seeing it.
Where are Varakor's men now…?They've gone quiet. No movement since the attempted coup. No leads for their next move… The thought gnawed at him, relentless.
The soft sound of footsteps pulled him from it. He turned sharply, eyes wide—alert, almost defensive— Then they softened the moment he saw her.
"Orielle?" He crossed the room quickly. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"
She frowned, her voice quiet but firm enough to stop him where he stood. "What's wrong," she said, "is that I've gone two weeks without my husband coming to bed."
Tirian blinked, caught completely off guard. I… I didn't avoid her…I made sure to see her every day… A flicker of uncertainty crossed his expression. Did I do something else wrong? "Orielle, I—"
"No, let me finish," she said gently, though there was an edge beneath it. She set the candle down on the table, its light flickering between them.
"I wake up—you're gone. I fall asleep—you're not there." Her gaze held his. "The only time I see you is at dinner… and even then, you look exhausted."
She hesitated, her voice softening. "The maids say you've been working through the night."
A small breath left her. "I thought… maybe tonight you'd come to bed."
Then, quieter— "Please." Her eyes searched his. "I know you're troubled… but you can't think clearly like this. You need rest."
His expression faltered slightly. Sleep…?I've gone far longer on less… A faint, tired smile touched his lips as he stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into him. "I don't really need sleep right now," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I just… can't close my eyes for long."
His voice lowered. "When I do, I see—" He stopped himself, his eyes closing briefly. "My mind doesn't rest," he finished quietly. "So I keep it busy."
Orielle's expression softened immediately. Her arms slid around him, holding him tighter, her cheek resting against his chest. "Then let it rest with me," she murmured. "Just for tonight… hmm?"
Tirian stilled. Can I even allow myself peace? He exhaled slowly, his hands settling against her shoulders as he leaned back just enough to look at her. A weary, almost reluctant smile formed. "And how exactly do you plan to make me sleep, my queen?"
Her eyes glinted faintly with mischief. "I could sing for you."
One of his brows lifted. "Sing? You?"
Her smile widened, a hint of pride slipping through. "You'd be surprised. I'm quite talented at making something up on the spot."
A quiet chuckle escaped him, genuine, despite the exhaustion weighing him down. "Then I'm doomed," he said lightly. "Your voice might be pleasant, but your storytelling is all over the place. I can't imagine a song made up by you making much sense."
She pouted, though the corner of her lips twitched. Without another word, she reached for his hand and tugged. "Come on," she insisted softly. "You've carried this kingdom long enough."
Her grip tightened just slightly. "Let me carry you for one night." Tirian watched her for a moment. Stubborn… The thought came with something warmer this time. He let her lead him.
Later that night
Tirian woke to the sound of a muffled cry.
Orielle twisted beside him, her hands gripping the sheets tightly as a strained, choked sound escaped her throat. "Orielle?"
He pushed himself up quickly, concern cutting through the remnants of sleep. His hand moved to her shoulder, shaking her gently—then more urgently. "Orielle, wake up!"
His voice sharpened. "What's wrong?!"
She gasped awake. Her body jolted as if pulled from the depths of something unseen, trembling violently beneath the covers. Her eyes were wide—unfocused—searching for something that wasn't there. Sweat clung to her temples, her breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. Until her eyes found his, relief flooded in.
Tirian was already upright beside her. "Orielle—"
He reached for her immediately, one hand cupping her face, grounding her as best he could. "You're all right," he said quickly, though panic edged his voice despite his effort to steady it. "It was just a dream. You're safe. You're here." As he rocked her, worry on,y filled his mind.
She shook her head weakly, her breath hitching. "I… I saw it again…" she whispered. Her fingers trembled as they clutched at the sheets. "The blood… the—"
Tirian didn't let her finish. He held her tighter, holding her tightly, more guilt resurfacing.. The throne room…? I let her see that… I let her stand in that horror…
"I'm so sorry," he said, the words rushing out, heavy with regret. "I should never have let you see that. I should have—"
"No," she interrupted softly, her hand gripping his arm. "Not that…" Her voice trembled more now, her fingers tightening against him as if she needed something solid to hold onto.
"The prophecy," she whispered. "The one I saw… in the basin."
Tirian froze. She remembers it…? I thought she forget everything?
Her body shook harder now, her grip tightening in his robes as though she might fall apart if she let go. She's terrified… His chest tightened. What did she see…?
He held her closer, his hand moving to the back of her head, steadying her against him, he wanted to ask.. but he couldn't bring himself to do so, just seeing her reaction to it, made him worry.
"It's all right," he murmured, though the words felt hollow even to him. "You'll be all right… I'm here."
But the unease didn't leave him.
Carefully, he let her go. "I'm calling the physician," he said, his voice quieter now, more controlled—but still edged with concern.
A short while later, the chamber had settled into a tense stillness.
The fire crackled softly in the hearth. The only other sound was the faint rustle of cloth as the physician finished his examination.
He stepped away from the bed, his expression composed, and turned to Tirian—who now stood just outside the chamber doors.
"She's all right," the physician said calmly. Tirian exhaled slightly, though the tension in his body didn't ease.
"But…" the physician added. Tirian's jaw tightened immediately. "But what?"
The physician's gaze softened, his tone gentler now.
"She's experiencing nightmares," he explained. "Intense ones. But that may settle as her memory continues to return. Whatever she saw… it hasn't fully surfaced yet. But it seems to take its toll. And they return I'd suggest just being there for her as a comfort."
Tirian's expression darkened slightly at that, his thoughts already turning.
Then the physician paused. Just long enough to shift the weight of what came next.
"But, Your Majesty…" A faint, knowing look crossed his face. "Congratulations."
Tirian confused by the sudden change in the Physician's demeanour.
"It seems… she is with child."
For a moment, Nothing moved. The words hung in the air, heavy, unreal. A child…?
His heart flipped in his chest. Something warm sparked—unexpected, almost fragile. And collided instantly with something far heavier.
Fear.
His gaze drifted back toward the bed. Orielle lay there, watching him now. Her expression was quiet… and uncertain.
There was something else there too. Something close to guilt rather than surprise. Tirian's brows knit faintly. Did she… know?