“Thank you,” Laurence told Prompto, before he closed the door in his face.
Part of him recognized the rudeness of the gesture. He should have invited him in, perhaps offered him a cup of weak tea or watered-down coffee. He couldn’t stand to keep seeing his face though. He couldn’t stand the idea of forcing himself to make pleasant conversation, or even unpleasant conversation.
From the moment that he’d heard the news, Laurence had felt like he’d been swept overboard into icy water. He’d had the sense to ask a little of what happened, details enough to satisfy him for now, though he knew he’d likely be asking for more in the near future. Details enough to make sense of it, if any sense could be made at all.
He stood at the door, his hand still on the wood panelling from when he’d closed it, and tried to find his feet. It felt as though the floorboards heaved under him, on deck in a gale.
And then, without quite knowing how he’d gotten there, he found himself outside in the courtyard. It was cold, the February day especially crisp, but he noticed the cold only distantly, as though it came from far away. He hadn’t grabbed a jacket on his way outside, hadn’t strapped on his warm winter boots, and was instead wearing the light slippers he wore indoors.
“Temeraire,” he said, said, hollowly, his voice strangely calm to his ears. And then again, “Temeraire,” so he could be sure he had the dragon’s attention. “A-Huan is dead.”
“What?” Temeraire rumbled, coming alert at once. Not that he ever slept very deeply, anymore; he felt his responsibility of guarding the covert all too keenly. “No.” That was nonsense, he had only just seen Lan Huan. He could not be dead, at all. But if the last few years had taught him anything, it was the fragility of human life; his mind only took a few seconds to catch up with his heart. “Where?” he asked then, rifling, his first instinct to go wherever Huan was and bring him back.
Where?
For one wild, heady moment, Laurence considered telling Temeraire. Fetching his harness, and flying off to the Cloud Recesses. They’d wreak havoc on Intervius’ forces. They’d find the traitor who’d betrayed him, and they’d crush him. Temeraire would unleash the Divine Wind, and they’d destroy all of Interitus’ forces, they’d retrieve Lan Xichen’s body, and they’d bring him home.
And then the cold reality set in of what would actually happen. Temeraire would be captured, Laurence would likely be killed. If the Cloud Recesses weren’t already destroyed, then the ensuing battle would certainly flatten it.
Perhaps that would be better than having Intervius’ minions crawling over it, ransacking the Hanshi, where Lan Xichen had first played Laurence his waltz and where they’d first confessed their feelings together, or the reception hall where they’d shared their first dance together.
“No, Temeraire,” Laurence said, and his words caught in his throat. He pressed the palm of his hand over his mouth, struggled to control himself, and when he spoke again, his voice was strained. “No, we can’t go to him.”
“But -” Temeraire started, only just starting to believe, to realise both his own personal grief and that which Laurence must be feeling. “Then… how will we know? What if he is not…”
“Prompto was there. He saw. He was just here to deliver the news.” Laurence wondered if he was still standing outside the door, but he was sure he’d gone back to his husbands. He felt a sudden, ungenerous stab of bitterness at that, and quashed it. He’d not allow himself to become the sort of embittered man that took affront to others good-fortune. He took a deep breath, making a moment to master himself again.
“Interitus will have magic users with him, I’m sure. He couldn’t have hoped to take the Cloud Recesses without them. It’s a foolish, unnecessary risk.”
Temeraire’s claws scraped the cobblestones, making a dreadful sound. It was only his immediate concern for Laurence that stopped him from flying off anyway. Surely they were not going to just leave Lan Huan there? He tried to put it aside in his mind for now; Laurence needed him. “I am so very sorry, Laurence,” he said, in a very low, rumbling voice. “Is there… anything I can do?”
“No,” Laurence said. There was nothing anyone could do. Lan Huan was dead.
And whatever strength of will Laurence had left in his body fled, all at once. He stumbled forward against Temeraire, laid his hands and forehead against his warm hide, and wept.
Laurence couldn’t say how long he stayed like that, curled against Temeraire – it hadn’t taken long for his legs to give out – but the sun was considerably lower in the sky when he was finally able to draw a ragged breath and scrub his reddened eyes with the palms of his hands. He felt hollowed out and empty, but in the pit of his stomach, a spark of rage was beginning to kindle.
Temeraire did not know what to do; he did his best to keep his own distress - both his own grief and his terrible concern for Laurence’s health and happiness - hidden, though before long there were gouges in the stone beside the foreclaw on Laurence’s other side. He had never seen Laurence so distraught before, not even after Digby or Riley or when he had lost all his fortune and was sentenced to death. This was a lot worse than all those, he knew now, and it was a very great pain that he could not fix it somehow either by violence or by diplomacy.
When Laurence finally stirred, he lowered his head and touched the very tip of his muzzle to Laurence’s chest, for what comfort he could hope to give. “Will you try to eat?” he asked, resorting in desperation to ensuring that at least basic needs were met. “I will ask Emily to bring something.”
Laurence shut his eyes, placing his hands on Temeraire’s soft muzzle. He took a great deal of comfort in the gesture, in knowing that Temeraire was still here, still warm and alive and solid under his hands. “No, my dear, I’m not hungry just now,” Laurence answered, aware, distantly, that he should eat, but the thought of food churned his stomach.
He was, in fact, plagued with a terrible restlessness, at odds with the exhaustion that had settled over him like a blanket once his tears had been spent.
“Would you care to go flying?”
“Oh yes,” Temeraire said, more out of willingness to do whatever Laurence wanted rather than any actual desire of his own, but as he thought about it the idea of tearing through the air until his wing-joints ached started to gain a particular appeal. Maybe they could find some dry trees or something he could roar at; there was a painful tickling at the back of his throat that he was sure could only be relieved with the Divine Wind. “Let us go. Now?”
Laurence very nearly told Temeraire to wait, he’d have to leave a note for Lan Xichen, but he swallowed the words before he could say them; they settled heavily into his stomach.
“Yes,” he said instead, voice tight. “Yes, Temeraire. Let us away now.”