Donngall's had been taken to the Church to be prepared for the funeral and placed into a coffin. His body had to be treated accordingly before he could be buried on holy grounds. The house was painfully silent as the remaining three members of the family did their best to go about their duties on the farm. Leofric was listless as he tended to the fields and Ita was away in her own world as she mended and washed clothes, nearly burning herself as she prepared food for the family.
Wulfstan did his due diligence to keep all the cogs turning, making sure neither of his family members injured themselves or went too off task. He was the only one who could act with some semblance of normalcy, and he knew he had to make the most of it. It was at that moment that he found a blessing within the curse of his existence – not being able to cry meant he could reign in his emotions much easier.
As night fell, Wulfstan settled in on his stool in his room, prepared to rush out to tend to his family if he heard them stirring or weeping. Eyes to the dark horizon, he dreaded the lonely silence of the night. He didn't get the chance to act of his own accord before Leofric padded over to Wulfstan's door, his footsteps easy to hear from across the hut, and knocked on it. Deafening in the viscous, close nothingness.
"Can I come in?"
"Mhm." Wulfstan hadn't been prepared to speak at this time of night so he could do nothing but make an affirmative noise. Leofric heard him and came in soon after.
With a neutral expression, his ability to emote sapped from him, Wulfstan watched Leofric. His face may have been impassive, but he was curious and concerned about why the man had decided to come over to his room.
"What do you need?" It felt like a good start, now that his voice had come back to him. As mild a question as it was, there was no chance it would come across as invasive and it would hopefully prompt Leofric into letting himself go. All Wulfstan could do was stare up at him from where he sat.
Leofric didn't say anything before glumly walking to Wulfstan's bed and lying down on it. He turned on his side, facing Wulfstan, legs curled up tightly, his arms crossed across his chest. "It's unbearable to be alone."
Taken aback, Wulfstan didn't respond immediately. He both understood and was confused by Leofric coming to him in this time of grief over his mother. Perhaps he needed the presence of someone who wasn't quite entrenched in all the misery. All he could do was move from his stool and sit on the bed next to Leofric, looking down at him. Instinctually, it felt, Wulfstan reached his hand out and ran it through Leofric's coarse, pin-straight hair. "What would you like me to do?"
"I'd like to sleep with you tonight." Leofric's eyes were earnest, moist with tears he was desperately trying to hold back, as he said that. Any semblance of the man he had become, hardened and strong, was washed away in the night by the loss of his father. A small, terrified boy was in his place.
They hadn't shared a bed since that bloody night all those years ago – it had never been necessary. Wulfstan would have been a true monster to be able to refuse such a heartfelt request, especially when Leofric had just lost his father. "Of course."
So, just like Leofric had done for Wulfstan when he had come back from the woods those few years ago, shaking and blood-covered, Wulfstan cradled him in his arms until the man fell asleep.
Tears slid soundlessly from those squeezed-shut eyes as Leofric slipped into his dreams. Wulfstan kept vigil, rocking them both through the starless, moonless night.
-
In the morning, the day after Donngall's passing, Ita joined her husband in the afterlife. Perishing from a broken heart, Leofric found his mother with a contented smile on her face. She was cold, stiffened from hours of death, but there had never been a more peaceful view than the first rays of sunlight spilling through her window and lighting up her face. Eternal rest made Ita look decades younger as if, knowing she had reached her end, had healed some part of her that had been wrenched out when Donngall had first taken ill.
Hopefully, there was an afterlife for them to meet again in.
Leofric couldn't move, an inconsolable, crumpled piece of cloth that Wulfstan had to lift up and lay on his bed so he could arrange for Ita to be buried with Donngall. While he was not family by blood or marriage, he was recognised as Ita and Donngall's son so he could do everything that he needed to get done with little hassle. Everyone in the village knew him as a Smythe boy, making the process smoother still. He couldn't put the weight of any of this on the other man's shoulders, even if Leofric was the only surviving blood relative of the deceased.
Whatever misery Wulfstan was suffering paled in comparison to Leofric's – while Ita and Donngall had been parental figures for the last ten years to him, that relationship was nothing to them being Leofric's loving, doting parents for all twenty-five years of his life. Wulfstan was, even though they did everything they could to make it not so, still an outsider.
The silence that had already fallen over the house the previous day became suffocating and oppressive. Wulfstan may not breathe but he felt as if he could understand the experience of drowning now. Dark, black, turbulent water engulfed the world. Everything was overwhelming and it took so much damn effort to keep his head above the water's surface.
Except it wasn't just his head he had to keep above the surface – he was dragging Leofric's listless body with him too. He would have to swim hard enough to keep them both afloat until a shoreline came into sight and they reached salvation.
There wasn't even the glimmer of land on the horizon yet. And never had learnt how to swim.
All they had to do was reach and clear the first hurdle; the joint funeral of Donngall and Ita Smythe. Fortunately, Leofric and Wulfstan wouldn't have to wait in limbo to put their parents to rest – the plots and the preparations of the bodies would be finished by the following day. After burying them in the lowlight of the dewy morn, they would be able to move forward, tend to the farm and, eventually, find their new normal.
Wulfstan just had to get both him and Leofric through this day and the next. It would be easier after Donngall and Ita were laid to rest. It had to be.
"Leofric, are you ready to eat?" He walked through the doorway of Leofric's room, not knocking because they'd gotten past the need for that. Not now. Wulfstan's words hung unanswered in the air, Leofric's curled up back unresponsive on his bed. Even tears couldn't be heard anymore, completely run dry. "Leofric?"
Nothing.
Unsure how to comfort the man, Wulfstan stood still for a moment, hesitant to even take a step further into the room, glancing back and forth between Leofric's form and the rest of the empty house. His brows furrowed, hands clenching and relaxing sporadically as his apprehension bled out.
A hefty sigh, woeful. "Have you made lunch already?"
Wulfstan took a moment, not expecting the Gaelic. Pulling himself together, he responded, "Yes."
Leofric moved finally and pushed himself up into a seated position on the bed, eyes trained on his lap. "If you've already made it, bring it here. I'll… I'll eat what I can." He was listless, his words dull and emotionless. Before Wulfstan turned around to retrieve the food from the boiling pot, Leofric brought his head up and looked out of the window, his expression obscured.
It took only a moment for Wulfstan to get the food, just a simple frumenty¹ so Leofric didn't have to do much to get it down his gullet. No matter how little he wanted to move or eat or interact with the world at large for the time being, it was imperative for Leofric to get some sustenance. Wulfstan didn't even dare to fathom losing Leofric because of his grief as well.
"Here it is." Wulfstan sat down on the opposite side
of Leofric's bed, the bowl in his hands steaming, though he knew it would go cold if Leofric didn't eat it soon. However, Leofric didn't move. "Are you… have you changed your mind?"
Still staring out of the window, face turned away completely from Wulfstan, Leofric's throat bobbed, swallowing back either words or emotions. Sniffling, he spoke with great effort. "What do I do now?"
Cocking his head to the side in confusion, Wulfstan tried to figure out whether he should ask his own query to clarify what Leofric meant or try to muddle an answer to that question to the best of his ability. He placed the bowl on his thigh and considered whether he should hold Leofric's hand or pat him on the shoulder.
"Wulfstan." A pause. Wulfstan could see the tears trickling down Leofric's sunlit cheeks, collecting at his chin before dripping onto the blanket. Leofric had not yet run dry, suffocating on his own emotions. "This- I'm… have you arranged everything? When… when are the funerals?"
"They're tomorrow morning."
"Ah. That's good." Leofric sounded relieved, perhaps finding something in him to be glad that he hadn't had to do everything. It was as if he knew that, if he had been alone, none of the arrangements would have been made. Whispering, voice wobbling with stifled sobs, he said, "…Thank you, Wulfstan."
"It's the least I can do." He was not as fluent as he could be in the language, having to supplement the words and phrases he had yet to learn in Gaelic with English. Wulfstan moved now, shifting on the bed so he was facing Leofric's side, bowl back in his hands. "You should eat now. Keep your strength up."
Leofric looked away from the window now. His eyes were red raw, bloodshot and shiny, foggy as he stared through Wulfstan. Backlit by the sunlight still streaming through the window, he had an angelic melancholy to him, the soft yellow halo illuminating his hair and face. He didn't move any further, making no indication that he was going to take the bowl from Wulfstan's hand.
Considering that Leofric seemed so reticent to eat by himself, Wulfstan had to make a quick decision to make sure that the man wouldn't starve himself to death. "Do… do you want me to feed you?"
He hummed, nodding his head slightly. It wasn't a strong agreement, but it wasn't a rejection – it was as if it was too much effort to express an opinion, one way or another.
"Alright. If that's what it takes to get you to eat, I'll
do whatever you ask." Wulfstan scooped up some of the lukewarm frumenty and, carefully, held it out to Leofric, almost touching his lips. "Open up before it goes cold."
Hesitantly, Leofric parted his lips, letting Wulfstan place the spoonful of food in his mouth. His face contorted slightly, a mild furrowing of his brows before swallowing the wheat porridge.
"Is it palatable? I've not cooked before." Ita had always taken charge of the cooking, insisting on doing it even when the rest of the family was perfectly capable of doing it themselves. One of the many roles that would have to be filled now she was gone. Wulfstan was anxious, not wanting to upset Leofric with disgusting food, even though he had never cooked before. It was a coin toss about whether it would even be edible at all. It was not as if he could taste test it; all food tasted revolting to his palate.
Leofric shrugged. "It's fine, Wulfstan."
Smiling ever so slightly, Wulfstan brought up another spoonful of frumenty. "Good. Let's make sure you finish it."
-
"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want in verdant
pastures he gives me repose; Beside restful waters he leads me; he refreshes my soul." Father Ranulf read from the Book of Psalms; his voice impassioned. Leofric held up Donngall's coffin with the assistance of the other mourners and Wulfstan followed behind with Ita's coffin. "He guides me in right paths for his name sake. Even though I walk in the dark valley I fear no evil; for you are at my side with your rod and your staff that give me courage." It was a warm morning, the mist of the dew evaporating from the grass clung to the skin of the villagers attending the Smythe funeral. The procession from the church made their way to the two fresh holes dug into the graveyard. "You spread the table before me in the sight of my foes; You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Only goodness and kindness follow me all the days of my life; And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord for years to come." ²
As the Father reached the end of his readings, Leofric, with Donngall's coffin on his shoulders, reached the first pit. With great effort, he and the three other men lowered the coffin into the hole as gently as they could, letting it drop onto the soft dirt at the bottom with a thud. Moments later, Wulfstan did the same in the adjacent pit, laying Ita next to her husband. Everyone stood back and waited for the Father to take his spot between the two temporary grave markers at the head of the graves.
It was a large gathering for the funeral of farmers – apart from some outliers, the Smythe's were well liked. Everyone that could spare the morning came and, even if only one person from a household could make it, Wulfstan and Leofric knew it was not for lack of love from the rest of their family. Despite the amount of people, it was a humble, simple ceremony, nothing as ostentatious as anyone of a higher standing would have. Mourning clothes were simply the cleanest clothes people could find, there was no banquet to be held after the ceremony, no celebration nor music performed by entertainers.
As it always had, the world would keep turning. Soon the names of Donngall and Ita would become forgotten by everyone but their closest friends and their sons.
Time waited for no one.
As Ranulf began to recite another Psalm, Wulfstan drowned his droning voice out as best he could so he could focus on comforting Leofric. Even now, the man was listless, unmoving besides when he needed to, barely speaking and, if he did, only to Wulfstan. Wrapping his arm around Leofric's shoulder, Wulfstan felt the man's body shuddering with sobs, doing his best to keep them silent.
Leofric knew that no one would see him as weak for openly mourning the death of his parents, but he couldn't help it. There was something within him that hated the idea of anyone seeing him being so vulnerable. Weeping was not an action he wanted imprinted in the heads of so many villagers, most of whom he had barely spoken to. Wulfstan was the only one he was willing to let in entirely now.
A mixture of quiet sobbing, shovels heaving dirt back into the graves and the Father reciting Psalms filled the early morning air.
¹ frumenty – a porridge/a thick boiled grain dish. Wheat boiled in milk or broth.
² Psalms 23 1-3, 4, 5, 6