“It has been said time heals all wounds. I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind protecting it’s sanity covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens, but it’s never gone.”
Hypatia had never begged for anything in her life. Not once. Not as a girl, or a teenager or an adult. Anything she had ever wanted was given to her and more. Never had the great Lion Queen lowered herself into begging from others. She would have asked to be damned rather than beg.
Not now.
Hypatia would beg now. Until the rivers ran dry. Until her bones became brittle. Hypatia Vitello would beg for the life of her son if it took everything else she had ever held dear. She would trade anything for Antony. Her beauty. Her jewels. Her life, what little value it had left.
When the wildlings came to announce her fate, Hypatia did not believe them. Surely not even the King of the Savages would truly kill her boys. Not her sons. She did not care about herself but gods, they could not kill her sons? The Gods could not be so cruel as to rip them from her like this. “Please.” Hypatia had struggled to stand. Weak from lack of sleep, wine and food, the Old Queen struggled to make it across the small expanse of her cell to the bars. She curled her hands around the iron, the cold bit into her palms but she ignored it “Let me speak to him. The King. Your King….Please. Please let me speak to him, only if for a moment.” Hypatia was tempted to reach through the bars but she could not risk it. They could see it as a means of attack and she was aiming to save her sons. Anything could be seen as an assault. The Wildling that stood in front of her was tall, weathered with age and grey with time. He said nothing, but Hypatia could not mistake the look of pity in his eye Do you have sons? She wanted to ask, Did you love them?, hold them tight as children? Scare their nightmares away in the night?. Hypatia wanted to scream at him. She wanted to fight and scream and tear her hair out. She wanted to do anything to stop the hurting inside. The pain. The suffering. Gods….was she suffering. The wildling turned “No No No No!” Hypatia reached through the bars then, desperation clinging to her like a sickness. She was too late. He was just out of reach. “No please!” she cried into the cells corridor “Please!, please!, please!...”
They came in the morning. Afternoon?, Evening?. Hypatia could not tell one day from the next in such darkness. Only when the door at the end of the corridor opened did she rouse from the spot on the floor she had collapsed into in. Two Wildlings strode by her cell not long after. Struggling to her feet, Hypatia leaned in close to the bars and tried to see what was going on.
No. It was too soon. They had not come for her sons. There was no way-
In the distance she heard a cell lock. A key was turned. A door was open.
Hypatia felt dread, cold and heavy, settle in her stomach.
Marching. Toward her.
Hypatia could see a little of what was happening, not much given the poor lighting but just enough. Alycia walked past first. A far cry from the elegant High Medow girl Hypatia had once know. The woman who had taken her throne, her crown and her son glanced through the bars at Hypatia and smiled bitterly. Then she was gone.
Have I won?, thought Hypatia, her hand going to her throat, is this price of victory?
Her sons final walk happened in slow motion, as if the gods wanted to draw out her final suffering.
Antony. Her Antony, came walking past her cell in front of one of the wildlings. Hypatia was rarely left without words, but now she could not seem to find her tongue in her head. Antony looked at her, and she saw a little boy. The same one that stretched out beside her in bed when Zion would not. The boy who she had fed and clothed and cradled at her breast for years. Her son. Her first born boy. Her Antony. “Mother.” He said gently, unsmiling. He was afraid. Hypatia thought, my son is afraid and I can do nothing for him. Oh gods…..my son is to die.
Hypatia reached out blindly through the bars and managed to catch Antonys hand. She held on, the feel of his skin against hers bringing tears to her eyes “Antony…..” she breathed, unable to hold on. The wildling grunted and quickly pryed her fingers from around her sons hand “No!” she was screaming now. Wailing like a mad woman “No please!” She scrambled up the bars until she was pressed against the stone wall and the iron. Still she screamed on. “I love you!” she cried into the darkness. “Antony, I love you!”.
The Door slammed shut.
She was left in darkness.
Alone.
Hypatia tried to catch her breath. She tried to see sense and see reason and see clearly. Yet could not. Her son was on his way to his death and Hypatia could do nothing for him. She had sworn a vow. She had sworn to protect him from all harm. She had failed.
Hypatia screamed. Loudly. It was horrible. Grief stricken and heavy with panic and anger.
She cried and she wailed, clawing at her gown, at her face and at her hair. Hypatia tore herself to ribbons, all the while screaming the name of her son.
Antony
Antony
Antony
No mother should have to bury their child. Though Hypatia Vitello could not have buried her Antony even if she had wanted too.
