#thanks rae for unintentionally enabling me

[eskawrites]

listen. @sweepy-stringbean said 'we need the recovery scene after the vecna'd moss back stab' in the tags of a post and i was helpless to do anything but drop everything and write it. so here you go. tenlark sequel to this.

-

If Tenar ever wakes up, Lark is going to kill her.

When Tenar wakes up. Because she is going to wake up. She has to, because she trusted Lark to do a job, and Lark doesn’t think she can do it if Tenar is gone. Because Lark is shit at this, was never meant for it, will never be anything close to half the leader Tenar can so effortlessly be.

But mostly because Lark thinks her own heart will stop beating alongside Tenar’s, and then they’ll all be ruined.

She imagines it, late at night, sitting at Tenar’s bedside after she’s slipped back into the ward once the healers have closed the doors for the night. She thinks about what it would feel like, walking around with a still, dead heart. It would be heavy, she thinks. Perhaps it would sink further into her chest, weighing her shoulders down, pressing against her lungs and making it hard to breathe. She wonders if it would start to rot. If her stagnant blood would turn black, if her skin would grow ashy to match. She would be forever in mourning, her veins thick and black like a widow’s garment.

-

“Queen Regent,” Arren greets her when he walks into her room one morning. She glares at him, and he grins and waves the tray in his hands. “I brought you food. The servants say you aren’t eating.”

“I can get my own food.”

“A queen should never have to serve herself.”

“Will you shut up, Arren?”

He sighs, smile fading, and she would apologize if she wasn’t so busy fighting back sudden tears.

“I mean it all with love,” he says, as if she doesn’t know that. She reaches up and rubs her eyes. “And you really do need to eat.”

“What I need is to find Moss.” She curls her hand into a fist and lets it fall to the table. “What I need is to figure out what he’s planning. What I need is for the council to make themselves useful and aid Ged’s research.”

“Lark—”

“What I need is to get a hold of myself so I can do the job she left for me. No, fuck that, what I need is her.” She looks up at Arren, not bothering to fight the tears anymore. “I can’t do it, Arren. Why did she do this? Why did she choose me?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“It should’ve been you.”

“Oh no,” he says, laughing weakly. “I’d be screwing it all up, and you’d be telling me everything I’m doing wrong in precise detail.”

“But I can’t do this,” she says, a sob breaking through her words.

Arren walks over, sets the tray down, and places his hands on her shoulders. “She wouldn’t have chosen you if you couldn’t do it.”

-

“There are people claiming to have seen Moss in the eastern outskirts,” Ged says, every word heavy with exhaustion. “But the guards say it’s only rumors.”

“What do you think?” Lark asks.

“I think that, if the guards thought there was any chance she was there, they would have already tried to arrest her.”

She nods. “We never should have told the people it was Moss.”

“We couldn’t lie to them.”

“I know,” she breathes. It’s why she had given the order to spread the word.

“At least now she can’t hurt anyone else. If someone spots her, we’ll know about it.”

Lark shakes her head. “If only we had that kind of luck.”

-

“And Lady Fina has offered her best scouts to comb the outer villages,” Lark says, rolling up the parchment that contained Ged’s notes from that afternoon’s council meeting. “That’s tripled our patrols while maintaining a strong guard presence to protect the people. As soon as he makes a move, we’ll know it.”

She pauses and looks down at Tenar. Her face is frighteningly pale. Her hair is wild against the pillows, more unruly than she ever lets it get. Lark reaches out as if to brush it into place, but she stops herself and pulls her hand back.

“Of course, he hasn’t made a move,” she whispers. “We know he’s planning something, we just have no idea what. My best guess is that he—he’s waiting for the news of your death.”

She watches Tenar’s face, praying to every god she knows for some small movement. Some recognition of her voice. Nothing comes. Lark closes her eyes, then opens them and looks at her again.

“I’m doing my best, Tenar. I will do everything I can, for as long as I can. But I really, really don’t want to do it without you.”

Tenar remains still, silent, so far away and so close to the end that Lark can’t even see the rise and fall of her chest with her breathing. She does reach out this time, just to press her fingers to Tenar’s wrist and feel her heart beating. It’s quiet and frantic, but it hasn’t given out yet.

“Please,” she whispers, letting her touch linger just this once. “Please, Tenar. Please don’t leave me. Not now. Not ever.”

-

Many people in the palace would say that Queen Tenar has no temper. They say her patience is limitless, her demeanor unshakably calm.

Lark knows better. Tenar has a temper—an impressive one, too. She just has a much longer fuse, and a much stronger ability to hide her anger when it finally ignites.

Lark…doesn’t.

“Lord Vayne, would you quit blowing hot air out of that useless head of yours and listen to what I am telling you. Moss is not an enemy of the palace, and even if she was, sending bounty hunters after her would only serve to get them killed.”

“The men I am speaking of are the best in the land. They—”

“And Moss has helped save this kingdom when every other force at your disposal proved utterly useless. However talented your hired brutes are, they will not best her. Now sit down and hold your tongue while the rest of us discuss actual ideas.”

He glares at her, but he sits. Lark glares back, feeling completely hollow even in her triumph. She looks around the table. Everyone else is looking back at her, faces carefully blank. Arren catches her eye and winks.

The door bursts open. Arren jumps to his feet and draws his sword. Lark grabs her bow from her chair, but she recognizes the guard before she can aim.

“Queen Regent,” he says, ignoring everyone else in the room. “I’m sorry to interrupt—I just came from the ward. They’re asking for you. They say it’s urgent.”

Lark dashes across the room. Someone shouts after her, protesting her behavior or reminding her of some stupid formality she should follow before leaving the meeting, but she doesn’t really hear it. She doesn’t hear anything but her steps pounding down the hall, and her blood rushing in her ears, and the guard’s voice, apologizing again for interrupting, telling her he isn’t sure, they just sent him to collect her.

They reach the ward. The guard stops, but Lark doesn’t. She shoves through the doors. She races past the guards posted in the front room. She slams her way into the room with Tenar’s bed, and then she freezes, because all she can see is healers gathered around the bedside, and white sheets piled at the foot of the bed, and she realize that she doesn’t know why they called for her, and maybe she doesn’t want to know.

But then she hears a small voice, beloved and familiar even if it’s never sounded so frail.

“Lark?”

One of the healers turns, shuffling to the side, and Lark can see her at last. Tenar is still lying down, still terrifyingly pale, but her eyes are open. Her lips are pulling into a weak smile. She breathes in, and Lark can see it in the rise of her chest. She’s alive.

She’s alive.

And Lark remembers, suddenly, how furious she is with her.

Tenar’s mouth quirks up, like she can read Lark’s mind. Maybe she can. Lark wouldn’t be surprised, actually. Tenar glances up at the healers around her bed.

“Leave us for a moment.”

They all nod their assent and walk away, leaving the room empty save for Lark and Tenar and the heavy silence stretching between them.

“Lark,” Tenar breathes, but Lark shakes her head. Tenar lifts a hand toward her. Her fingers shake with the effort. “You can say whatever you want, and I’m sure I’ll deserve it. But come here first, please.”

“You almost died.” Her own words hit her like a blow, but the almost is what lingers, warming her chest slowly but surely. She closes her eyes. She steps closer. “I—I thought—”

“I am here,” Tenar breathes. Her fingers brush against Lark’s, and Lark blindly intertwines them. “I have not left you.”

“But you did.”

The warmth turns to anger, to rage, and she clings to it, holds it close until it is blinding and painful, preventing her from thinking too much about I have not left you and how good it threatens to make her feel. She opens her eyes, and Tenar’s gaze is understanding. Sympathetic. It’s easy, suddenly, to only see the rage.

“You did leave me,” she says. “No, not just that, you named me Queen. Me! Are you out of your mind?”

“No.”

“You are a fool, Your Highness!”

“I disagree, Queen Regent.”

“Shut up!” Her voice cracks, and she almost laughs. She breathes out, and it sounds more like a cry. “I’m so mad at you, Tenar.”

“I know,” Tenar says softly. “And I’m sorry. I truly am. But it was the right choice to make, Lark. I know it was, and I think you do, too.”

Lark does, but that doesn’t stop her from shaking her head. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

Tenar takes her hand and pulls it up to her face. Lark moves with her, pliant, obedient, willing to be anything Tenar needs her to be, always.

“You’ve done beautifully,” Tenar whispers.

“You don’t even know what’s happened in your absence.”

“But I know you.” Tenar closes her eyes.

She’s sweating, Lark realizes. Exhausted. In pain, probably. Lark leans closer and brushes her hair back. Tenar smiles softly, and Lark feels relief crash so brutally through her that she thinks she might be sick.

“You would have done better,” Lark says, softer now. “Lord Vayne hates me, you know.”

“Lord Vayne hates everyone. Whatever you said to him, he probably deserved it.” Tenar opens her eyes. “I really am sorry. I will—they’ve already told me I must stay overnight, but I can call the council here, I will catch up on everything, I will—”

“You will rest,” says Lark. She runs her fingers through Tenar’s hair again. “I will do everything you need me to do, for however long you need me to do it. And you will rest for as long as your healers tell you to.”

Tenar’s smile turns sly. “Want to bet?”

“Against you? Never.” Lark swallows. “But my point stands. I’ve sworn my oath to you, and to this kingdom. I will be your regent for as long as you need me.”

“Even if you hate it?”

“Well. I do get to tell your council what to do, which is fun.”

“You can tell them what to do anyway.”

“Yes, but now they have to actually listen.” She grins as Tenar laughs softly. But then they both sober, their eyes meeting again. Lark swallows. “I’m glad you’re back, Tenar.”

“I’m not done yet.” Tenar squeezes her fingers. “And I wouldn’t leave you.”

“You keep saying that,” Lark breathes.

“I do not say things I do not mean.”

“Believe me, I know.”

“I know you do. Allow me to prove it to you anyway.”

Lark realizes how close they are, foreheads nearly touching. Tenar pulls at her hand, eyes wide, searching—begging for something in lieu of a command she doesn’t dare give.

As if Lark has ever wanted anything but to obey. She closes the distance, feeling Tenar’s smile when their lips meet, hearing her quiet sigh as Lark cradles her head and kisses her. They part after only a moment, and the light in Tenar’s eyes brings tears to Lark’s.

“What is it?” Tenar breathes. Her thumb strokes over Lark’s palm, pressing gently, grounding her. “My dear Lark, what’s wrong?”

Lark lets out a short, wet laugh. There are so many terrible things waiting for them both just outside the door, but Lark finds that the only answer she can give is to shake her head and lean in again. Tenar kisses her gently, happily. This time when they part, she brings her hand up to cup Lark’s cheek and keep her close.

“Stay here a while,” Tenar says. “Lie with me, and tell me all I’ve missed, and we’ll figure out what comes next together.”

What can Lark do but obey? She follows Tenar’s gentle pull on her hand until she’s lying beside her, arms wrapped carefully around her, and she lets Tenar ask question after question about what has happened, and she feels that—finally, for just a moment—the world is right again.