Antony closed his eyes and waited for Meredith. He had to see her; he had to know, without a doubt, that she was alright.

Of course, logic told him that he had just been unconscious for quite some time and the things he had seen were just dreams. Meredith was still here, still fine...She had to be. Kade had gone to fetch her, had he not?

Antony wondered how long he had been unconscious. Had Jonathan returned to the palace? Had Meredith read his letters? Some of the events leading to his waking up, here in his own bed, were somewhat blurred. Concentrate as he might, he still could not remember exactly what had occurred to bring him here, and to cause him so much pain.

Pain was, behind his longing to see Meredith, the most pressing feeling. It ached, and throbbed, and demanded that he feel it. His chest ached and his shoulder throbbed. Trying to sit up had only made the feeling worse. He kept his eyes closed, the light feeling too bright and garish, hurting his head. He stayed still, trying to avoid the spinning feeling that enveloped him every time he opened his eyes or tried to move.

He focused on trying to remember. He pictured the battle. He remembered tying Meredith's ribbon about his arm. His hand automatically went to his arm, searching for the ribbon, but it was gone. There was no yellow flash of color against his plain, white nightshirt. He swallowed and concentrated once more.

He remembered Jonathan. Try as he might, the only thing he could picture was himself, looking up at Jonathan, while his brother bent over him, his expression full of grief. And he had told Kade to take Meredith the letters; he remembered that much.

He attempted to open his eyes again, but the world seemed blurred, too bright, and hard to see. He closed them again, frustrated.

His mouth was dry; he wished, sincerely, that someone would bring him water. He allowed the feeling of thirst to distract him from reliving all the things he had seen; he still was not yet sure what was real and what was false, and a mere nightmare.

He heard, through the thirst, and pain, and confusion, voices. One, he recognized as Kade.

And after a few moments...

Meredith.

He held his breath, taking in her voice. She sounded out of breath, as if she had run from somewhere. He heard the door open.

"Antony!"

Relief flooded over him. Whatever he had seen during unconsciousness...whatever he had imagined happening to Meredith...She was here. She was fine. It was a dream.

Just a dream.

She was at his side, now, bending over him, holding her breath, saying his name.

"Meredith," he said, her name soft on his lips. He opened his eyes then, squinting against the light and blurriness, and trying to make out her. He could tell that her hair was messy, and she looked as though she were wearing a nightgown. Had she just gotten up? Was it the middle of the night? He could tell she was smiling.

And he smiled back.

***

Meredith felt happy tears welling up in her eyes, and she quickly swiped them away. She felt unable to stop smiling.

She threw her arms around Antony, jumping back slightly when she heard him catch his breath when she brushed against his shoulder.

"Sorry!" she said, giving a small laugh.

He just smiled.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Honestly?"

She nodded.

"Like death."

The physician entered then, and she stood nearby while he examined Antony's wound and checked his pulse.

"Well," he announced. "The poison seems to have worked its way through your system, Sire. You should only continue to improve from here. You'll need to have plenty of water. Don't eat large amounts of food...best ease back into it since you haven't eaten for the entire time you've been unconscious...almost a week." He paused a moment, gathering his things and preparing to leave. "You'll feel the normal discomforts of an injury, and a quite severe one at that, and you'll probably be plenty tired. You should be able to be up soon enough."

"Thank you," said Antony, as the physician left.

Meredith sat down on the edge of the bed. Kade left as well, closing the door behind him and leaving Meredith and Antony alone.

Meredith smiled, laying her hand on top of Antony's.

"Meredith..." said Antony, hesitantly. "I...I want to apologize in person. I should not have reacted the way I did when you told me you were Borgavian. I should have just listened, and accepted it right then..."

"Antony," she said, soothingly. "It doesn't matter now. I understand why you reacted the way you did. After all, I spent years hating you and your family simply because you were Astorian royalty."

He still seemed unsure, and he looked down at her hand on his, avoiding her eyes.

She smiled softly and reached forward, turning his head to face her. "If it makes you feel better, I forgive you." She leaned forward and kissed him, pulling back only slightly afterwards, her forehead still against his. "And I love you."

He smiled, finally. "I love you too, Meredith."

She could tell that he was already tired once more...that he was still weak.

"You should rest," she said, gently.

He nodded, his eyes already starting to close.

"Wait!" she said, teasingly, giving his shoulder a little shake. "Not until..." She turned and procured a glass and a pitcher of water from the side table, pouring the water until the cup was full. "...You drink this."

He smiled and shook his head, but took the glass from her. "You're really not going to let me go to sleep until I drink this, are you?"

"Not a chance," she said, smiling. "Besides, you've been asleep for almost a week."

"I'll have you know...it wasn't the most restful sleep I've ever had."

She smiled sympathetically. "Everything will be better now."

She watched as his grip tightened on the glass of water.

"I still remember, though," he said, slowly. "I remember every one of them. I lost you...Or I never got to see you again and the last thing you knew was that I betrayed your trust. I lived my father's death...I faced Jonathan in battle. Isabella never came back. Astoria fell..."

She laid a hand on his arm. "It's alright, Antony," she whispered. "I'm here. We're together. Jonathan is here, and he's spent the majority of his nights sitting at your bedside. Isabella is fine. Astoria won against the rebels and your people have been anxiously waiting for news of you. They've lit candles every night for you and the flags have been lowered the entire week. You'll recover, and everything will be better."

He finally nodded, then drank the water, handing her the glass and laying back against the pillows.

She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. "Just rest," she whispered as he closed his eyes.

***

Jonathan heard the clock strike three in the morning from his new rooms, which Isabella had insisted that he stay in. He was still unable to sleep, but the quarters were undoubtedly more comfortable than the prison he had kept himself in until now.

He looked up from the book he had been attempting to read when there was a knock at the door.

"Yes?" he said, leaning back in his chair.

The door opened and Meredith stepped inside. She was wearing a nightgown and her hair was loose around her shoulders.

"Meredith?" he questioned, frowning as he stood, setting the book aside.

"Antony's regained consciousness," she said. "I thought you should know. He's resting now, but the physician says that he should only continue to improve."

Jonathan stood for a few moments, waiting for her words to sink in. Finally, a smile spread slowly across his face.

"Thank you, Meredith," he said. "Thank you for telling me."

"Of course," she said, nodding, and departing from the room.

Jonathan sat back down, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

Worry for Antony had distracted him, somewhat, during the past week but, now that he knew Antony would survive, his worries about what would happen to him now returned. Antony may have forgiven him but he knew that there would be people in the kingdom who still hated him, still refused to forgive him, and even feared him. How could he even stay in the palace now? Would he have a punishment? He felt that he should, but he did not know what Antony would choose to do.

He sighed and leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes as tiredness finally descended on him.

***

Meredith entered Antony's room the next morning to see him standing at the end of his bed, using the bedpost to help prop himself up.

"Antony!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing out of bed?"

He turned to look at her and smiled, before letting go of the bedpost and taking a few steps towards her. He stumbled and she hurried forward, supporting him as he regained his balance. She walked with him over to the edge of the bed and sat down at his side.

He shook his head. "The physician said that my legs would be weak from disuse...but I never expected to not be able to at least walk."

She could hear the frustration in his voice and she rested her hand on his shoulder.

He sighed. "He said that they'll be back to normal eventually...I just have to keep trying to walk...to walk more every day."

"I don't think he said to start the day after you woke up though, did he?"

Antony hesitated, before shaking his head.

She smiled. "Don't push yourself too hard," she said, gently. "You've only just regained consciousness. There's no hurry."

He frowned. "I don't relish the idea of spending any more time in bed than I have to."

She laughed slightly, but then stood. "Well then," she said. "Come on."

She helped him to stand and then let him put his arm around her and walk with her help and support. They made their way around the room once, and then out into the corridor, where they walked down the hallway a few times, until Antony grew tired. Then they sat on the window seat at the East Wing window.

Meredith opened it; Fulton had kept it closed since Antony's original departure with the army.

Antony slipped his hand into hers and leaned back against the corner of the wall.

"How's Jonathan?" he said, after several moments of sitting in silence.

Meredith shrugged. "I've let him know that you're awake," she said. "I haven't seen him since then."

Antony frowned. "I'll have to talk to him at some point...I think he still blames himself for what happened. That needs to stop."

Meredith looked at the ground. "Would any of it have happened if he had not made some of the choices he did?" she muttered.

Antony rubbed the top of her hand gently with his thumb. "You do blame him, don't you," he said, softly.

She hesitated for a few seconds before nodding.

They were silent for some time.

Finally, Antony sighed. "I won't blame him. I can't. He made his wrong choices...yes. But the rebels existed before he became a part of them. Certainly, he helped them speed up their preparations for attacking the kingdom...but he eventually made the right choices. He did try his best, after all, to save my life. He was prepared to sacrifice himself to save me and...You weren't there, Meredith. You didn't see how he grieved when he watched Spad shoot me instead of Sawyer shooting him." He looked her in the eyes.

"He is my brother. I love him. I've forgiven him for everything. What happened to me...I made the choice to go after Sawyer in an attempt to stop him from harming Jonathan. Neither of us...me or Jonathan...could have known that Spad would show up in that clearing at the exact moment that he did. It's not Jonathan's fault."

"I just...I just can't forget that I almost lost you..."

He smiled and gently turned her to face him, his hand cupping her cheek. "But you didn't."

She closed her eyes and kissed him.

***

Antony sat before the desk in his study for the first time since his injury. Three days had passed since he had awakened, and he found himself getting stronger every day. There were, of course, still times that he grew tired, or needed to sit and rest, but he found that sitting at his desk did not require much exertion on his part and allowed him to be up.

He studied the papers before him, a report from Kade telling how the former rebels had been dealt with and what had been done about their island and their ships and weapons. They had been disbanded: as it turned out, many of them had not followed Sawyer's cause whole-heartedly. As a precaution, all of them must be monitored, but some of them were allowed to get jobs and to raise their families in cities of the empire. Everyone was removed from the island for the time being and brought back to mainland Astoria, where the men who had committed the worst crimes against the empire were jailed or punished according to the level of their treason.

Sawyer and Spad awaited Antony's trial in the King's Prison below the palace.

There was a soft knock at the door and Antony set down the papers on the surface before him.

"Enter," he said.

The door opened after a few moments and Nash wheeled his chair into the room, a smile plastered across his face.

'Antony!" he said, his smile only seeming to grow. Antony returned his smile.

"Hello, Nash," he said. "How are you?"

Nash brought his chair to a stop before Antony's desk and rested his arms on the wooden surface.

"I'm doing fine," he said. After a few moments, he frowned. "You slept a long time..." He studied Antony carefully, squinting his eyes. "Are you alright now?"

Antony smiled gently. "I'm doing much better, thank you," he said.

"I heard one of the guys who captured me shot you with an arrow."

Antony nodded. "He did; however..." He smiled. "Apparently I'm not that easy to kill."

"Is it your left arm?" asked Nash.

"Yes, my left shoulder."

"Can I see?"

Antony was surprised for a moment, but he eventually shrugged and reached up with his right arm to unbutton his shirt enough to pull it back from his left shoulder, revealing the bandages that covered his chest and his shoulder.

"Oh," said Nash, solemnly. "I didn't have to have bandages...My mom said it was because my injury was intern-ed."

"Internal, yes," said Antony, nodding. He re-buttoned his shirt slowly and leaned back in his chair.

"You're lucky your legs weren't hurt," said Nash. "Then you wouldn't have been able to give me horse rides."

Antony couldn't help chuckling at Nash's statement, and the little boy smiled.

"I left you a letter," said Nash.

"I saw. I enjoyed it very much. You and your sisters were quite thoughtful."

Nash grinned. "Guess what, Antony."

Antony pretended to be deep in thought. "Hmm..." He faked a frown. "I give up," he said.

Nash laughed. "It's my birthday soon! In five months! I'm going to be seven!"

"Seven! Why Nash! You're getting old!"

"Not as old as you!" retorted the blonde-haired little boy. "My mother says you're going to be twenty-one. That's old."

"Yes...Twenty-one." At Nash's mention of his birthday, which would arrive soon after Nash's, he found himself realizing that, not only would he be turning another year older, but this birthday would mark one year of his being king of Astoria. He shook his head to clear it and focused on Nash.

"Now that I can't have a horse for my birthday," the little boy was saying, "I think I want..." He stopped, and glanced towards the door before wheeling his chair around the desk to whisper in Antony's ear.

Antony listened intently, before nodding. "If that's what you want...I think it might be arranged."

Nash smiled. "Good. Thank you, Antony."

Antony only smiled. He was immediately startled by a scratching and yipping coming from outside his study door. He glanced at Nash who was grinning.

Antony stood, getting his balance by resting a hand only momentarily on his desk, and crossed to the door, opening it.

A fluffy gray blur brushed past him and jumped up on Nash's lap.

Antony looked at Nash, questioningly.

"Antony, I'd like you to meet Emery," he said, smiling. "I named him after your horse. I've been waiting for you to see him!"

Antony ran a hand through his hair and smiled, dazedly. He didn't think he had ever felt more honored than he did by the fact that Nash considered him his friend and esteemed him high enough to name his little dog after his horse...

Than by the way Nash thought of him in general, actually.

***

Four days had passed since Antony had awakened.

Four days had gone by since Meredith had knocked on Jonathan's door and told him, simply, that Antony was going to be alright.

Four days since he had let his worries reenter his mind.

Four days.

Four days that he had been too cowardly to face Antony.

Every day, he made it as far as Antony's door, but turned away, unable to gain the courage to simply knock.

Now he found himself wandering the palace, revisiting rooms that he had not seen in years and allowing himself to relive memories and events from certain places.

He walked through the portrait hall, where new portraits of Antony and Isabella had been hung, adding to the number of members of the House Westerholme that were displayed in the hall.

His cousin, younger than he by nine years, looked lovely and serene, as she usually did. Isabella had a way of looking lovely and serene even when she was challenging someone to a horse race, as she had done when she was younger, or running through the halls of Mansfield as a child. There was no doubt about it; his young cousin had grown up. Now she was married, and had a child on the way. He had no doubt that she would be a wonderful mother; he only wished that the circumstances were not what they were.

He turned to look at Antony's portrait. His brother, ten years his junior, looked more like their parents than Jonathan himself did. He had their father's blonde hair and in face and eyes, he resembled their mother. The expression on his face was one of determination, but beneath that, Jonathan read hesitancy. Antony never had wanted to be king...He had told Jonathan, as a child, that he was glad that Jonathan was going to be king. Events had conspired against him, however, and he found himself with the position he had never wanted.

Jonathan wondered what had changed since the portrait had been painted. When he had seen Antony that day in the throne room when he had injured his own brother, and when he had seen him in that clearing in the forest, Antony's expression had only held confidence: confidence in what he believed to be the right thing to do.

Jonathan moved on from the portrait hall to the throne room. He stood before the empty throne, staring at it. Once, he had not wanted it. Once it was his. Once he had thought that he would be happy if he could only regain it, destroying everything Rupert had created in the process. Now, however, it held only memories of a past that Jonathan wished he could forget.

"Jonathan."

He started, his eyes going wide, before he hung his head. "Antony," he said, his voice quiet.

He heard his brother's footsteps on the tile floor, slow and steady, until they stopped and Antony was next to him.

"You've avoided me, haven't you?" said Antony, quietly. "Why?"

Jonathan shrugged, but Antony remained silent, waiting for his answer. Jonathan sighed, looking at the floor. "I suppose I feared your judgment. I suppose...I thought I could run from my mistakes, somehow...Or hide. That I would eventually forget."

"But you haven't."

"Of course not," he said, shaking his head slowly.

Antony rested a hand on Jonathan's shoulder and Jonathan raised his eyes to meet his brother's gaze.

"You know you never will," he said, simply, but kindly. Jonathan sighed, heavily, before nodding and dropping his gaze.

Antony stood next to him, hands at his sides. "Jonathan," he finally said. "You do know that I have forgiven you, right?"

Jonathan was silent.

"Every part of what you've done...everything that you now regret...I don't regret it. If that is what it took to bring back my brother...Of course I regret that you had to deal with all of that pain inside...with everything that Rupert did..."

Jonathan looked up in surprise. "How...How did you know?"

"There were times...when we were both younger, before you moved to the palace for good, that I would suspect that things weren't as they appeared...I was always suspicious of Rupert; I just never knew how bad things truly were. But I heard...When you told Meredith. Bits and pieces...but still. Enough to know that there is more to your story...more pain and hardships than I will ever know...And yet you've chosen to put yourself at my mercy and at the mercy of the people of Astoria by giving yourself up and admitting that you were wrong. What braver act can there be?"

Jonathan shook his head. "I don't deserve...any of this."

Antony held his hands behind his back and looked at the ground. Finally he spoke again. "What do any of us deserve, Jonathan?" he asked. "What do I deserve? What does Isabella deserve? Some people might say that I deserve the throne, simply because I was the heir and because I am a member of the House of Westerholme. But wasn't Rupert also? And people seem to agree on one thing about Rupert; that he didn't deserve to be king. It would seem that what people...deserve...is based on their actions as a person."

He paused for a moment before continuing. "And, based on your actions of repentence...based on the way you sat with me while I was unconscious...Based on the way you hold yourself responsible for your actions...Based on the guilt you feel...You deserve forgiveness."

Jonathan looked at Antony, hesitantly, trying to read his brother's expression but seeing nothing but sincerity in his gaze.

"Do you accept my forgiveness, Jonathan?"

Jonathan allowed thoughts of what this would mean to fly through his head at an impossible speed. Finally he silenced them, pushing them away and replacing them with two simple words.

"I do," he said.

Antony smiled. "Welcome back, brother."

Jonathan allowed himself to smile.

Antony turned and walked to the throne, taking the few low steps to the ornate chair and bending down to pick up the crown.

He faced Jonathan and came to stand before his brother. Jonathan looked up, meeting his gaze, surprise written in his face.

"Jonathan," said Antony. "This was yours, once. At one point, we fought for it. You did not deserve it, so I refused to allow you to have it. However...You deserve it now. By rights...You are the oldest brother. You are the heir of the House of Westerholme. This crown, should you choose it, belongs to you."

"Antony..." Jonathan hesitated, thoughts beginning to overwhelm his mind once again. However, one rose above the rest. Jonathan met Antony's eyes. "There may have been a time that I would have accepted the crown from you without hesitation. But now...I am not the best king for the people of Astoria. I have, over the time I have seen you of late, come to realize something. My little brother...has grown up." Jonathan smiled, taking the crown from Antony and looking at it for a moment before looking back up at his brother.

"You are a much better man than I was, Antony. I have seen you willing to give your life to defend your kingdom. I saw you willing to fight me to protect the people you rule. I have seen you throw yourself into battle against rebels whose goal was to kill you. I have watched as you selflessly defended me against Sawyer.

"What oath did you take when this crown was first placed on your head and you took responsibility for the empire?"

Antony frowned for a moment, before speaking. "I swore to protect them...to the best of my abilities."

Jonathan smiled. "I took the same oath. And I broke it. But I have seen, already, you...time and time again...upholding it. The people see that. They trust you. They love you, Antony. When you were unconscious, there were candles in the windows of houses across the empire. When you were injured, your soldiers gathered in respect as we departed to bring you back to the palace. People are already planning a huge celebration for your twenty-first birthday, as well as one year of you being king."

Antony simply stared at Jonathan as he spoke.

"You are their king, Antony," he said, earnestly. "Not me. I never truly was. Not the way you are. They never had the love and respect for me that they have for you."

Jonathan lifted the crown slightly, testing its weight in his hands. "These are your people, Antony. This is your kingdom. This is your crown." He lifted it and placed it atop Antony's bowed head. His brother looked up and met his eyes, smiling.

"You have truly changed, Jonathan," he said. Jonathan stepped forward and hugged him tightly.

In that moment, Jonathan had never felt that things were more right than they were then.

***

After Jonathan departed the room, Antony remained, sitting down on the throne and holding the crown in his hands, studying it.

He ran Jonathan's words through his head once more. Did people really think of him in that way? Did they really care for him as their king?

"Antony?"

He looked up as Meredith entered the throne room, shutting the door softly behind her.

He smiled. "Meredith," he said. "I was just going to come back to my rooms..."

"I didn't come to make you return," she said. "You certainly seem strong enough now to choose where you go in the palace."

He looked at the crown once more, deep in thought.

She came to stand next to him. "I heard you spoke to Jonathan," she said. "He told me you offered him the crown."

He nodded. "I did."

"He did not accept your offer, I hear."

"Correct."

"He told me his reasons." She was silent for a few moments before speaking once more. "I'm gaining respect for your brother."

He smiled, thoughtfully, still not quite looking up.

She pulled the crown from his hands, forcing him to look up and meet her gaze. "You, Antony," she said. "Are the king Astoria needs. You are the king that the people love. And you, King Antony," she said, her smile turning teasing as she lifted the crown and set it on his head. "Are the man that I love more than anyone in the world."

He stood and pulled her into his arms.

"I love you, Antony of Westerholme," she whispered, resting her cheek against his chest.

He held her gently, his hand in her hair, holding her to him. "And I you, Meredith of Eldridge."

***

Side image is Nash. :D

This is the last chapter, aside from the epilogue. :)