Slaughtaverty, 1745

"Dáire! Noooooooooo! Dáire!"

The little boy's screams rip Merry Doyle's sleep to shreds, and she sits up in bed with a frightened gasp. The first thing she notices is that she doesn't smell the sheep or the ashes of the dead fire in the kitchen hearth. Nobody is snoring in the darkness, and it wasn't a kick to her ribs that woke her.

Her sleep-blurred eyes try to help her make sense of her surroundings as her confusion grows. When she recognizes the beautiful chest of drawers and the flower-splashed drapes, her body registers the softness of her nightgown and the warmth of her bedding. She finally remembers that she's in the pretty room that became hers a few weeks ago. 

Merry is living a long nightmare where joy, fear, and horror are constantly fighting to be the champion of her heart.

Right now, hearing the boy scream again, his voice breaking on a sob of terror and grief, it is sorrow that wins the war and takes ownership of her heart. She hurries from her bed, running barefoot, her long red hair streaming behind her, from her room to reach her little brother.

She knew it was a bad idea for him to try and sleep alone in his own room, but he insisted in a rare moment of bravado, showing the spark he used to have. The spark she thought had been entirely extinguished by the terrible ordeal he'd survived, nearly destroying his mind.

Ignoring the cold, she crosses the corridor to storm into her brother's room opposite hers. She can see him in the corner of his bed. He is just a tiny lump of material and hair, wedging his back into the seam of the two walls bordering his bed at the head and one side. He has his knees drawn tightly to his chest and is crying harsh, gasping sobs.

As it does every time she sees her brother like this, Merry's heart breaks for the little boy, and she runs across the carpet. Scrambling over the bed to reach him, she draws him into her arms, cradling him to her heart.

"Shhh," she hisses soothingly. "Shhh, my baby."

Recognizing his sister's scent and her thin arms hugging him closely, Uilliam buries himself in her embrace, where he cries for the friends he'd seen bleeding to death and getting chopped to pieces to be fed to pigs. Now and then, his cries turn into screams as the memories assault his young mind, and it becomes too much for him to endure.

Merry rocks him slowly, and as she'd done many nights through his six years of life, she sings him the old lullaby her grandmother used to sing to her when she was little and afraid... mostly of her father when he was drunk, as usual, or when she missed her mother.

"Sleep, oh babe, for the red bee hums the silent twilight's fall, and aoibheall from the grey rock comes to wrap the world in thrall." Merry's gentle voice trills sweetly, driving the darkness back, and Uilliam's anguished screams die down little by little. "A leanbhan oh, my child, my joy, my love, my heart's desire, the crickets sing you a lullaby beside the dying fire."

https://youtu.be/YgpVJAUIjYA

As she sings, she listens to him weep for Dáire, the adorable little blond boy he always had fun with in the fields. He cries for the other boys who died in the living nightmare he'd survived. He cries for Sam, who survived and even for Timmy, though he never used to like Timmy.

The wounds covering her brother's body have all healed nicely; aside from being too thin, his body has never been healthier. Unfortunately, the scars in his mind and heart are not as easy to mend.

Her song is helping his sobs calm to soft hiccups as it draws him out of the terror-filled darkness in his mind, but he is still desperately clinging to his sister. His tiny fingers dig into her skin through the thick cloth of her nightgown. Merry holds her brother, her pure voice catching on the tears clogging her throat while she tries to soothe him.

Finding out that he was alive was the most joyous moment in her life, but sometimes, when she sees how broken he is, filled with much more sorrow and fear than his little body can carry, she wonders if being alive is all that wonderful after all. She would give anything to take away his pain and see his mischievous smile again.

Uilliam had always been too thin - all the Doyle children were malnourished - but now she could feel every bone in his body, and it made him seem even more fragile than before. Running her fingers through his soft, auburn hair, she rocks him, back and forth and back and forth in an ancient dance performed by mothers all over the world.

A soft rustling near the foot of the bed frightens Merry into silence, and she swallows the rest of her song. Focusing her eyes to see in the gloom, she's relieved when long, light hair draws the outline of a familiar figure against the black of night. She'd been too distracted to sense his arrival and her heart skips a happy beat, knowing he'd come in answer to Uilliam's distress.

He always comes when one of them needs him.

The duke's nephew (Merry is still not wholly convinced that he's not the duke's son) joins them on the bed, working himself under the downy covers. Leaning over, he pulls Uilliam from Merry's arms into his own embrace and draws the blankets over the little boy.

Laying his hands on either side of Uilliam's small face, he tilts the boy's head back to look into his streaming eyes. Merry has seen him do this many times in the last few weeks, and not only him but his father and his uncle did it too.

"You're safe," he whispers in a comforting voice. "It's all over. You're home now, don't be sad anymore. You need to rest. Sleep now, little Uilliam."

It works so much faster and better than Merry's attempts to help her brother find peace. Almost instantly, Uilliam relaxes, his body sagging as the tension leaves him like flour spilling from a hole in a sack, and his eyelids grow heavy. He sobs once more and again, and then he falls silent, curling up against the young lord's chest.

Merry lies down behind her brother's back and wraps an arm around him, hoping that some of her warmth will soak into his cold body while he sleeps, snuffling softly from time to time.

The duke's nephew comforted her like that too, when she'd just started to share Uilliam's horrible memories and screamed in fear and terror. She'd wanted to claw her brain from her head not to see the images running through them as if she was experiencing it first hand. 

His voice, his gentle hands and his mesmerising eyes drew all the pain and fear out of her, and though the memories still upset her, they are distant now. They no longer feel like her own experiences, and she's increasingly able to cope with them.

She hopes that soon, her little brother will be able to remember his friends without screaming in sorrow and horror. She hopes that he will soon run around and make noise again, constantly asking questions about everything in life.

Uilliam has always been so eager to learn.

Merry's eyes find those of the young lord, luminous and bright in the dark, watching her over the top of Uilliam's head, and she smiles, holding his gaze. He returns her smile. He never tries to push her away anymore. He teases her a lot, and sometimes, he runs away from her and hides or avoids her, but he is never mean to her. She knows he still battles with guilt and anger about everything that happened, but he is beginning to understand how important it is for him to live and to play his part in keeping the enemy at bay.

He is growing stronger every day, and Merry counts her blessings that he is not the enemy.

When the tips of his fingers tentatively find hers, clutching the soft fabric of the bedding tucked over Uilliam's body, she grabs onto them. He doesn't pull away; instead, he weaves his fingers with hers, locking their hands together. Holding on to each other, cradling Uilliam between them, sleep finally wraps the children in its warm embrace.

The duke and his brother are standing in the deep shadows at the open door, watching the children find comfort in each other and drift off to sleep. They share a pleased smile, happy to see that their help will not be needed tonight.

Tomorrow, they will once again fret and worry about what's to become of the Slatherty family and their rambunctious heir. Tomorrow, the fight for survival will continue, but tonight, all is well.

It is time to rest and catch their breath.

~~~