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[/html]In a moment, everything he'd ever worked for in his life, and all the great things he'd achieved meant nothing, because they were worth nothing without his family. All the hard work, all the dedication, only to be rewarded with the most gruesome, horrifying failure that could befall a man like him. There was nothing that could trump this, nothing that could make it better. His children, their children, were lifeless forms in his arms, and it was only now that he came to another heartbreaking realization: his wife, his beautiful knight, was also dead. She'd died long before he reached the borders of Cour des Miracles, despite fervent promises to bring back help, and that he was going to save her like he did before; like he always did. But instead, the last sight she saw with her fading eyes was him, walking away.
Locke collapsed into himself, curling himself around the lifeless forms of his children. He wept uncontrollably, and continued to shake as the trauma ripped him apart. He could do nothing, or say nothing, to right this terrible wrong. He wanted to fix it, and he wanted to convince himself he could; that somehow, his children would take their first breath again, and his wife would smile as he offered them to her. And they would be happy again, like they'd planned. Like they deserved. Like he deserved. But what if this was meant to happen? Like some twisted game of fate. Why else would he work so hard at securing happiness, and moving on from his past regrets, only to be dumped into a life so horrifying, so surreal, that he was trying to convince himself it was a beautiful lie?
After a few agonizing minutes, his sobs began to quiet, and the tremors stilled. Locke remained in his hunched position, breathing slowly in and out, trying to avoid any stray glances to the lifeless bodies in his arms. His grief, though far from over, was stemmed by the presence of the noble young man. Slowly he uncurled, muscles moving automatically; his movements were hardly fluid as he lifted his hollow gaze to the fire-furred man. A moment passed where he considered lying down and never getting up, but he had to, even if it was only because he couldn't die on another man's floor. It just wasn't something he'd do.
Still gripping the bundle, Locke painstakingly rose to his feet. He was feeling his mortality in the aching bones of his body, and the sore pads of his feet. This was only amplified by the fate of the two lying still in his arms. With a final, prolonged glance to the flawless, cold faces of his children, Locke grabbed the linen and carefully pulled it over them again, concealing them for what would be for good. He turned towards Haven, and there was something unmistakably broken in his expression. Whatever the young man told him, he would do. There was only one thing left for him to do now, and that was to bury the bodies of his children, and his wife. Beyond that... there was nothing.