Memories
Charin knew her time was short. Her body had been breaking down for seasons now, developing an ache here, and a pain there. It was inevitable and she accepted her deterioration as part of the natural order of things. This was her time; death would come soon.
The medicines offered by the Lanteans would only delay what was meant to be. Teyla's disappointment at her refusal of treatment had been obvious. One day, she knew Teyla would understand. This was the way of their people. Charin was the last of the elders; the young ones could take on new ways. She would die as she lived: as an Athosian.
The end was near. The pain had lessened considerably, but it had little to do with the Lanteans' drugs and everything to do with the gradual separation from the world around her. Her only regret was that she would not spend her last moments on Athos, however, there were worse fates than to meet one's end in the City of the Ancestors.
Reality was becoming detached and disjointed. So were her memories. As she slipped away, they became a scattered jumbled lot. The images were so vivid; she began to wonder if perhaps she was not drifting through time as well.
She was young and carefree, the most sought after young woman in the village. Her hair fell in a long, golden wave about her shoulders which she tossed about as she flirted with her many suitors. Though she received much attention, Charin only had eyes for one young man: Jathan. He was tall and strong, his demeanor was calm and steady, but despite his seriousness, mischief often sparkled in his eyes. Jathan was a skilled warrior with the heart of poet. Just a word from him could make Charin smile and a bad day turn bright. That was why she loved him.
It was harvest time. Lines of lanterns were strung throughout the village, lighting the way to the Gathering Fire. Music filled the air as everyone rejoiced in a plentiful harvest. Jathan asked her to dance and Charin's whole world spun as they twirled in one another's arms. By the time they stopped to rest, it was late. They were among the last of the revelers to leave the celebration. She was tired as Jathan walked her home, but Charin did not care. She was in love, of that she was certain. He leaned in to kiss her and her heart stopped. The next day, Jathan asked her father for permission court her. They were married in the spring.
The sky was dark now and a light rain fell on the assembly. Charin stood steadfast and stoic as Hathar passed her the torch. Her eyes fixed unwaveringly on the horizon, she stepped forward her head held high as she traversed the short distance to the pyre. Her expression never changed. Even as the flames took hold and climbed high into the night, taking the spirit of her son to the Ancestors, she remained impassive. She was thankful at least this time there was a body left to burn. Jathan and their other children had been lost in previous cullings. One moment they were there, the next vanished like a wisp of smoke on the wind. Now Charin stood alone.
And so it went the barrage of images. One moment she was a child, the next a young woman holding her first born in her arms, one memory flowing into another with no rhyme or reason.
The moments she lived in the present waned. She would wake, usually to find Teyla at her side, and slip into lucidity once again. During these moments of clarity, Charin would try to comfort the younger woman; to assure her peace awaited her after the struggle.
"Teyla, my child, do not weep. You have your memories. They will sustain you as mine have me." Charin spoke, laboriously using the last of her strength. "Nothing is lost as long as you remember." She saw the understanding in Teyla's eyes and closed her own. Her point made she could at last rest. Jathan and her children awaited her in the next life, and Charin was ready to join them. Her work here was done. She would live on in this world, in the memories of those she left behind.
