(illness au)

── 𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐥𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞, 𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 - 𝟏𝟒𝟏𝟒

hal lay propped up in his bed, his face pale, sweat clinging to his brow, his breaths shallow and labored. the advisors hovered around him like vultures, their voices a constant hum of concern, of strategies, of what could be done. but even in his weakened state, hal’s eyes remained alert, sharp as ever, though his body betrayed him at every turn.

you stood just inside the door, her heart racing in her chest. she could tell, even without the doctors’ grim faces, that this was no ordinary illness. hal, the king, looked nothing like the man you had known, but he was yours. all yours.

“your majesty, you mustn't—” one advisor began, but hal’s voice cut him off, hoarse but commanding.

“enough,” he rasped, his head shifting slightly on the pillow, a weak gesture that still commanded the room to fall silent.

you flinched at the sound of his voice. the man who had once commanded legions now sounded so small, so fragile, that it shattered your heart. the advisors stood frozen, unsure of how to proceed. you couldn’t stand it. your eyes locked with hal’s, and she could see the desperate plea in them.

“my love… come” he whispered, his voice cracking with effort, his lips barely moving as he spoke her name. it was the faintest of sounds, but to her, it was as though everything else faded away.