✓ | TOUGH AS THE IRONWOOD (A.FORRESTER 2)

Can't Breathe. Chapter Three.

Cynthia didn't really know where she had intended to go, perhaps her room or to somewhere no one would think to look for her, yet she found herself in the one place she knew all too well. His room. She collapsed to the floor, and for the first time, really letting the tears fall without restraint; she sobbed and cried aloud, not caring if there was anyone who might here, even though to her knowledge there wasn't, she simply needed to let out the pain and the heartbreak she'd kept locked away the entire journey home. Her entire body ached and burned with an untold pain she hadn't expected, everything she loved had just slipped from her fingers leaving her alone, and cold, in a world she had no desire to be in without him. When he'd been exiled there'd been hope. Hope that one day her love might return home; and so she lived in waiting, everyday peering from the window, for 4 years, praying she'd see him walk back through the gates, finally home and back where she could love him again. Now there was only a dark abyss in which hope once resided, now leaving only a draft of reminder and sorrow to cascade within her mournful heart, because hope had gone - there was no 'one more chance' that he'd show up again. This time, their goodbye had been final, him leaving was for good. She'd tricked herself last time, that she'd see him again, but now she only wished she hadn't. Hindsight, what a beautiful thing? She wished Malcolm hadn't gone to find him, and bring him back, she wished she hadn't gone to find him and persuaded him to listen to his Uncle. She wished, for once in their lives, Asher hadn't missed his family or intended to come back at any point, that he'd enjoyed life away from Ironrath. At least that way the hope he would come back would still be alive, and so would he. 

Sprawled beside his bed, with her head buried in the sheets the had, for a time, held his smell - and no longer did - to muffle, and collect, the tears that now poured down her pale face in waterfalls, realisation forcing streams of burning water that could no longer be held back. She'd tried to stay strong, around Rodrik and the others, but now that she sat alone, on his floor, she could finally allow her emotions, her agony, to be let out into the world where she no longer had to burden their suffering. She hated it, but not as much as coming home without him. That was all she'd thought about for months now, was the day she'd get to see Elyssa's face when her second-born son returned from Essos after 4 years, and the looks on his siblings faces from having their brother home again. The way she'd feel at having him home too. But that was all gone now, and the thought of walking through the gates without him at her side made her feel physically sick. She wasn't sure she could do it, go on without him, it hurt too much to speak, to move, even breathing felt like her insides had been torn apart. Everything was causing misery and there wasn't anything in the world that could stop it. Not anymore. 

"Cyn?" A familiar voice whispered, a form appearing at her side, with strong arms wrapping cautiously around her. And she let them. She wasn't able to force them away, not that she would, any support right now was welcomed given how much she needed it. She needed someone to tell her everything would be alright, so that she wouldn't have to lie to herself, but she knew deep down Rodrik wouldn't say it, because he too knew it was false, and that it only led to misguided, disappointing, hope, with no real resolve. "Cyn?" He whispered again, delicately removed hair from her fragile face so that he might look at the girl that was a sister to him, who was now a broken heap, hopelessly flung onto the floor. She couldn't speak, her throat was raw and painful, and the air she needed to perform such an action was hardly gained with the shallow gasps she was using to breathe; everything just seemed impossible. So she acknowledged him in the only way she could, she moved into his embrace and sobbed hard against his chest, finally having someone around to console her while she bawled her eyes out, endlessly. "Sshhh." He cooed, "I'm here," As much as Cynthia loved Rodrik, unconditionally in fact, that wasn't what she needed - he wasn't who she needed; but who she did need, was the one that wasn't there, and wouldn't be ever again. "It hurts, Rodrik." She mumbled, finally formulating some form of sentence as best she could, whimpering and trembling uncontrollably in his arms, not really knowing what else to do, what else she could do, except cry into his tunic and let him hold her until she ran out of tears. "I know..." He hummed, combing his hand through her hair like he'd done so many times through the years since Asher's banishment, to help calm down the young Glover girl whenever she became overwhelmed with missing him. 

"I can't breathe, Rodrik." She whispered in a fragile voice, sounding weaker than ever before, once the crying had subsided temporarily. "It hurts so much...It's like everything's burning inside, the guilt of never telling him and the pain from losing him is all catching up to me now-" She gulped in air, finding that her lungs were exhausted of all oxygen since her previous moment of sheer agony. "-I can't take it Rodrik, it hurts too much..." She sobbed more, clutching his tunic and trying to keep steady - no matter how futile it was - before she seriously let go for good. If she accepted that he was gone, that what happened had happened and that he wouldn't be coming home, then that would mean he was never coming back, and all the time she'd spent waiting would be for nothing - and accepting that he was well and truly gone would mean it was real, and if it were real then there was no hope left at all. Cynthia didn't think she was ready for the pain that would bring. "We've got to stay strong, Cyn. For now, at least. I know it seems impossible but we have to see those bastards pay for this before we let grief consume us. Promise me you'll try and be the tough girl I know you can be, promise me that you'll be there when we make Gryff and his cock-headed father eat our blades?" She nodded, her words failing again, but she nodded anyway. It hurt, and she was in unbelievable agony, but there was nothing that could prevent her from making the Whitehills suffer 10 times worse. Asher would want her to do it - shove a sword through the back of Gryff's throat, he'd be smiling while she did it, proud of how well he'd taught her. And she'd smile too.