#so...yikes lol

The fever had left, and so had the delusions, but the deep exhaustion and aches in his bones had not.

He knew he was dying, even before his Master and the nurse sat beside him and gently, softly, told him so.

“I am so so sorry,” the king had whispered into his ear, his voice cracked. “I can’t save you, Juno. Please forgive me.”

Terry’s brown eyes, kinder and softer than anyone Juno had met, were wet with unshed tears.

Juno raised a hand to his cheek. His arm was sore.

He stroked the king’s face.

It wasn’t fair. Terry needed him. Terry needed someone to brush his hair and remind him to eat and sleep next to him so he could rest-

But Juno was dying.

Anger festered in his heart; a burning ember inside the hearth of a soul he’d dedicated to this one man.

He was going to die, because he wanted Terry to live.

Now he wasn’t sure if his Terry would survive putting Juno in the ground.

___________________

Master was not working.

Juno didn’t mind.

Master Terry spent his days by Juno’s bedside, reading to him and holding his hand.

Juno felt the aches in his joints all the time now, and he struggled not to doze through Terry’s presence. He wanted to be there, to spend as much time as he could with the man who loved him.

Terry loved him.

Terry was the only person who ever loved him, aside from perhaps Juno’s mother whom he did not remember except that she was warm and sang.

It was cruel that Juno could not stay.

“Are you hungry?” Terry asked. His voice was as soft as the feather pillows he’d helped Juno sit against.

He wasn’t, anymore. Hunger seemed like a distant memory with how little it plagued him now, even as his mind silently counted all the meals he missed while sick.

Juno nodded anyway.

Terry smiled so sweetly at him when he spooned the broth into Juno’s mouth. It wasn’t crying, but it was a smile of grief.

Juno missed the happy smiles.

___________________

Terry took Juno outside when it was warm and sunny.

Today, he had made a picnic on the grass of the royal courtyard, below the shade of a cherry blossom tree.

Juno hadn’t been strong enough to get to the koi pond to see the fish. But this would do.

“I was thinking,” Terry said quietly. “That you should see the dressmaker.”

Juno peeked up at him from his place on Terry’s lap.

He’d seen the dressmaker only a few times in his years of Terry’s ownership.

“It’s tradition,” his Master’s voice was strained. “To have something new before…” he trailed off.

Juno would like a new dress. Brides got new dresses to be married in. It made sense that the dead would have a new dress to be laid to rest in.

He nodded, slow as molasses, and pretended that Terry was not nearly weeping.

___________________

The dressmaker was solemn as she passed over fabric for Master, then Juno, to feel and touch.

He rejected all the silks, opting for soft and familiar cotton.

Juno wasn’t a noble, to be dressed in lace and silks and jewels.

He was just Juno. He would die happy, but not as someone he wasn’t.

The cotton he picked was white, in an imperfect way that reminded him of the roses in the greenhouse.

It would be the first white garment he wouldn’t have to worry about cleaning. It would be white forever.

“I’ll embroider it myself,” the king told the dressmaker.

“I understand.”

___________________

Terry worked on the dress at Juno’s bedside. It was nice to watch him move the needle and threads as the birds sang outside the window.

Juno was sleeping more now, and he knew in his heart it wouldn’t be long.

Sometimes he woke up with wet eyes and cheeks, and the king’s handkerchief wiping the sorrow away.

Every time he woke up, the dress was a little more finished, with roses blooming over the hem and birds on the vines of the sleeves.

It was the prettiest dress Juno would ever wear, and still Terry’s needle moved.

“Does it hurt?” Terry whispered to him, setting aside the fabric to take Juno’s hand. “There’s no need for you to be in pain.”

It hurt, but not in a way any pill or potion would cure.

Juno weakly squeezed Terry’s hand, and shook his head.

Terry reached with his hand to stroke Juno’s face.

His fingers were so warm.

“I thought,” Terry swallowed. “Remember your king, Jason the fifth?”

Juno remembered. The Timorsian emperor had been kind to him, unusually gracious, like Juno was a kinsman and not a slave.

“He’s sent you pearls.”

Terry smiled, and it was pale like milk.

“I thought you might like to wear them. When the time comes. Something to remind you of home?”

Juno had never worn Timorsian pearls, much less pearls from his king. 

It would be nice. To have a thing from home that wasn’t a scar from pain or temporary like spices and sheeps’ cheese.

___________________

The pearls were cool against his skin, blue-green like the sea they came from.

Juno liked to twirl each one with a finger.

Terry had asked him to look at blossoms today. Branches of wisteria flowers, all of them blue but in different shades.

“Pick your favorite,” Terry offered, spreading the bundles over the quilt keeping the chill away.

Juno didn’t ask.

He knew Rhodanthians planted trees over their dead.

He picked out a delicate bloom, blue as a clear summer sky.

“It matches your eyes.”

___________________

Juno was going to die today.

He knew. It wasn’t fair.

Terry knew too. Without even trying to tell him, his Master knew that Juno was going to die.

He never felt so loved. He never felt so angry. He never felt so heartbroken.

Terry gave him a small vial of clear liquid. Painkiller, to get through the day.

Juno drank it without hesitation. It tasted like bitterness and honey.

They ate breakfast together; a savory porridge and bacon. Juno could lift the spoon himself with the aid of the drugs. He only managed a few bites of the cheesy grits, and nibbles of the rich maple-glazed bacon, so he kept to his favorite parts. They’d made the bacon chewy with browned edges, just how he liked it.

The king Juno loved then helped him out of bed. Bathed him carefully with a hot, wet cloth. Eased him into his dress, embroidered with blossoms and birds and greenery and love.

Terry carried Juno out to the garden, to the beloved koi pond. They fed the fish peas and barley grains, watching the shimmering reds and golds and whites of their scales.

Juno laid his head on Terry’s lap, enjoying the sun as Terry read to him. It was a story Juno had heard many times, a favorite, but he paid close attention to his Master’s voice. He wanted to keep it in his ears forever.

Lunch was fruit tarts and crackers with salty sheep’s cheese. The small portions were easier to lift himself and bring to his own lips.

“Here,” Terry suggested. “Have a bite of each kind.”

Juno managed a single bite of pear, strawberry, apple, blackberry, cherry-

Terry didn’t have much appetite either.

___________________

The court musicians played just for the two of them.

Music flowed seamlessly from one song to another, harp and violin and cello and Rhodanthian pipes and Timorsian chimes, and a few Juno couldn’t name.

Endless music that wasn’t interrupted by court chatter.

Terry stroked his hair and held him close and Juno was getting more tired than he’d ever been.

Dinner was a single slice of warm, rich chocolate cake, topped with cold vanilla ice cream and whipped heavy cream.

It was a summer day, and the amount of work the kitchen put into making ice cream just for him-

Juno smiled at Terry as he ate. It was the first thing he finished in a long time.

“Did you have a good day?” Terry asked him as they lay in bed after an hour of stargazing.

Juno nodded weakly.

He lay over top of Terry, his head on his chest as Terry pet his hair.

It would be soon. His breathing was slower than ever.

“I’m glad,” Terry whispered. He was so close to crying.

Juno didn’t want him to cry. Not now. Not ever again.

It was hard.

With one last effort, he raised his head.

He kissed Terry on the cheek.

He laid back down.

“I love you,” Terry told him.

Juno knew.

___________________

Announcement of Mourning

King Terrance’s beloved pet and servant, Juno of Timorsia, died in the early hours of the morning of June 30th. He was approximately twenty-three years old. The funeral will be held tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. He will be buried under a blue wisteria tree, near the royal koi pond which he loved so much. It is a private ceremony. The Crown thanks you for your consideration at this time.