A Brief Eternity
Talon's boots were silent against the familiar stone path. The path led to a small clearing and, at Talon's approach, a small bird took flight from one of the trees along the edge of the clearing. He watched its ascent into the clear sky and noted that it was an eagle. She would like that. With a heavy sigh, Talon knelt next to one of the three tombstones in the clearing and let his hand trace its once-smooth edges, now rough from exposure, as he stared at the name engraved forever upon it.
"I'm sorry," he said, as he had said for the past fifteen years. He should have been past the point of regret, should have been past the point where he remembered and clutched at his chest and held his breath, as if his next gasping intake of air would somehow fill the emptiness, the part of him that was missing. But he was still sorry. Sorry that, despite his efforts, he was incapable of saving them. Of saving anyone.
With nary a sound, he placed one of the three bouquets he held before the gravestone. Katarina had offered to buy him bouquets from the market, but Talon had quietly refused. Every year, he would come here, and in the early hours of morning he would search the surrounding forest and pick wildflowers. These, she had once said, were more beautiful for growing in the wild, for thriving amongst the trees. He tied them together with a blue ribbon; blue, for Demacia.
With his free hand, he ran his fingers along the inscription, letting out a long sigh.
He missed her. God, every day he would wake up and miss her warmth beside him, miss her laughter and her smile and her eyes, the way she made him feel like he deserved to be loved. He missed the way she would scold him when he did something wrong, like folding the clothes in the wrong way, or not preparing the damn eagle's food properly. He missed the way her cheeks flushed when she was angry, the slight tinge of pink that colored her face as she crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, and the way she planted her feet firmly, shoulder-length apart, immovable. He missed the way her brow would furrow in concentration as she sat upon a branch and watched the landscape, reading the forest as a scholar might read a book, as he could read the movements of a sharp, glinting knife in the moonlight.
And he missed their children. Their daughter, who looked so much like her mother it was uncanny, except for her disposition, which was so much like his own. And their son, not two years old, with Talon's brown hair and his mother's wide smile. The joy they'd felt as parents, the wonder and delight that their children had brought.
It had been difficult to raise the children in secret, and they'd both made sacrifices which changed their lives. But they'd managed, and they'd been happy. Talon could almost remember the feeling. So unbelievably happy.
Perhaps he wasn't fated to be happy. Talon didn't want to think about it, but being here, being in front of their graves-he couldn't bear to remember their screams as they died and the fact that it was his fault-if he'd been faster, if he'd been stronger, if he'd been smarter, he could have saved them, he could have saved their lives.
But he was weak, he thought bitterly. He was weak, and he had failed them, just as he'd failed the General so many years before. The ones who had taken the General from him had also taken the only true family Talon had ever known. He should have foreseen it, or suspected it, but he had been foolish, he had let down his guard, and that mistake had cost him everything. He should have trained more, he should have been stronger-if he had been stronger, his family would still be alive.
He let his hand drop, and it clenched into a fist by his side. He took several long, deep breaths.
He'd sworn revenge. To that end, he had abandoned Noxus, had abandoned all that he had once admired. He'd fled to Demacia, and he had gone to the only man who might listen to him: Prince Jarvan.
Jarvan had been her friend, her confidante. Jarvan had known about their relationship, forbidden though it was. Jarvan had known her, had known their daughter and their infant son. Jarvan had not known of their murders when Talon, dried tears still on his face, had found him.
The Prince was a good man, honorable, as all Demacians were. Talon had asked for help in his quest for revenge, and he had received it.
He couldn't cry anymore, no matter how desperately and fervently he wished and tried; he hadn't been able to cry for them for twelve years, now.
Talon hadn't cried for them in twelve years, but he was growing older, and his youth had left him, and they had finally, finally, gotten a lead. They would move out at the end of the week, to slaughter the ones who had left a black Rose on each of the bodies of his wife and children. At the end of this week, either Talon would be dead, or he would have his revenge.
Talon hadn't cried for them in twelve years, but today, something in him broke, and for a brief eternity, Talon wept.
He wiped his eyes before he placed the remaining bouquets on the smaller gravestones beside their mother's. And he whispered, quietly, hoping that if there was an afterlife, that Quinn would hear his words.
"Happy Birthday."
He hoped she would forgive him.
A/N: Happy (SLIGHTLY BELATED OOPS) B-day, Tahimi! You said angst/fluff. I'm not creative, hence the killing-someone-off-to-create-angst. This was once a Talon/Lux thing, but it is now a Talon/Quinn thing.