A/N: This group of one-shots is based on a song cycle I came across at my job called "I Will Breathe a Mountain" by William Bolcom. It's a set of 11 songs that uses, as its lyrics, the works of women poets. I liked the poems and thought they would make another interesting set of fics (the first one of this type is my "Songs to Dance" fic written for the "Merlin" fandom, which is based on a different song cycle by William Bolcom).
These are going to be mostly AU (since there are not yet enough episodes of the show from which to write a lot of canon), and all Ichabbie. They are also not meant to be direct interpretations of the poems; they're more the results of what the poems have inspired me to write.
xXx
Pity Me Not Because the Light of Day
-Edna St. Vincent Millay
Pity me not because the light of day
At close of day no longer walks the sky;
Pity me not for beauties passed away
From field and thicket as the the year goes by;
Pity me not the waning of the moon,
Nor that the ebbing tide goes out to sea,
Nor that a man's desire is hushed so soon,
And you no longer look with love on me.
This have I known always: Love is no more
Than the wide blossom which the wind assails,
Than the great tide that treads the shifting shore,
Strewing fresh wreckage gathered in the gales:
Pity me that the heart is slow to learn
What the swift mind beholds at every turn.
xXx
Katrina can only watch. Watch what she knows will come to pass. Watch and do nothing but bear witness as her husband's affections turn. As his feelings change.
She knows the prophecies. She knows his destiny. Has known for centuries. Knew it when she confessed her own love for him.
She knew he would only be hers for a short time. She knew the second Witness would be a woman, and she would be his true soulmate.
It was foretold. It was written.
It started when he bid her farewell in Purgatory a year ago.
And now it is happening. And she must watch. That is her punishment.
Katrina is now truly the Horseman's prize; betrayed by her own son, the son she gave away in an attempt to protect him.
Her coven was wrong to stop Jeremy's heart and lock him away. They should have embraced him, taken him in, and taught him how to properly wield his power.
Or they should have killed him outright.
She wears her mistakes and regrets as literal chains in the cell where the Horseman - Abraham - keeps her. They weigh her down, sometimes cutting into her skin, other times, chafing it.
She has languished here a year. She knows she is lost to the world. Lost to Ichabod. In every sense of the word.
He will not be able to retrieve her here. No matter how much he may try, no matter how much he wishes for it, she is beyond his reach. The Horseman has his prize. She cannot visit Ichabod in his dreams. She can only observe. Observe as his heart's desires turn from herself to his partner.
When she is not being forced to watch Ichabod and Miss Mills slowly find their way to one another, she longs for death. Her own. A real death, a death where she will be truly at peace.
Death, proper death, would be preferable to a life — no, an existence — here. Chained. A belonging.
Yet, deep down, Katrina knows her punishment is just. Her actions, or rather the timing of them, helped to push Abraham to the brink of insanity, ultimately making him the Horseman of Death. Her actions created the monster Jeremy has become, made him turn to Moloch, made him into the Horseman of War. That knowledge, that guilt had pushed her to wrap her chains tightly around her neck in an attempt to free herself from her torment.
After what seemed like hours dangling by her neck, she had unwound the chains with a heavy sigh, resigned to her fate. There is no escape for her, no returning to the world of the living.
So, she watches. She watched as Miss Mills' intrepid sister cleverly took advantage of her own injured state to rescue Miss Mills from purgatory. She watched as Miss Mills used the amazing technology in her "smart-phone" to find Ichabod's casket and free him.
She watched as Ichabod and Miss Mills clung to one another after he was unearthed, both caked in dirt and blood and neither caring. She heard the whispered apologies and fervent vows of recommitment to one another.
She watched as Miss Mills motored Ichabod to his home, led him to the shower, and tucked him into bed. She watched as Miss Mills waited until he was resting comfortably before taking a shower, watched as she kept an exhausted vigil over him until she succumbed to sleep in her chair, her head slumped forward on his mattress, his hand clasped in hers.
She watched as Ichabod awoke every morning, knowing he hadn't seen her in his dreams yet again. She watched as he went through the stages of grief. She watched as Miss Mills helped him through the stages of grief.
What makes it particularly difficult is that Katrina rather likes Miss Mills. If pressed to admit it, she would laud the young lieutenant as being intelligent, strong, unbelievably brave, and, yes, beautiful.
And ideal mate for my Ichabod.
No. Not my Ichabod. Her Ichabod.
It might be easier to cope with this change if she could hate Miss Mills. She could turn a cold eye on them and harden herself to their love. But, she cannot. Not even when she sees them laugh together. Not even when she sees his eyes linger on Miss Mills' face, on her full lips. On her curves. Not even when Miss Mills lays her hand atop Ichabod's in comfort or support, or when Ichabod unthinkingly tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow as they walk.
She cannot even hate Miss Mills — Abbie; he now calls her Abbie more often than not — when Ichabod turns to her one night in his cabin, lifts her chin with a single finger, and kisses her.
Katrina harbors no hope for Abbie's rejection of Ichabod. She nods, just slightly, as Abbie gazes up at him, eyes wide and only slightly surprised. Her breath catches in her throat as Abbie kisses him in return, her small hands coming up to circle his neck.
Katrina even feels a small smile tug at her lips. She sighs softly, finding a shred of precious peace in the knowledge that Ichabod has found the happiness he deserves. He has found his soulmate.
Because it was foretold. It was written.
