Ellen Maharet Anscombe

It had become a little easier, because of meeting Peter and Paul, talking with Ogma and Anpu. Just for the mere fact that she was no longer alone in this. (No, she did not mean to dump responsibility on to anybody - that was not the way of a queen. But she was not prepared to deal with what was transpiring, and with out Heru's council - and even if he were awake, she knew it would not be fully his - she was not fit to make decisions or take actions which could shake the very substance of how they were, and had been.) It meant that there was help, and a second opinion (and a third, blessedly, and more, by the sounds of it) and that there were more resources to be pooled.

More could be done.

At least it had seemed so when she'd been with them.

And then she got home, to the still form of her king, the body of a god - and, she knew, powerful and overwhelming as fitting - with less life in it than her own, than a pure mortal. Indeed, growing stronger, but still not enough to be animated. To speak and think and act on his own.

The sadness, wrongness to this sight took her again.

She moved around the place, straightening, making sure that everything was in order. Taking care of her body and of his, as much as was possible.

And then she was back to waiting. Working on untangling the spell and waiting. Watching him and waiting. Thinking and waiting. Remembering. And waiting.