Hello! I'm back after a brief break from VC narrative stories with this oneshot. Originally I was going to put it into Vicissitudes, but since this is Belgen Gunther's story (between EWI and EWII), I decided that it should be a standalone piece. In any case, it should shed light on a particularly pertinent part of Gallian history in a personal way, as well as introduce some additional characterization for certain characters in Beginnings and Ends. Hope you enjoy!
Those Whom the Gods Love
March 18, 1920
It is a sight I hate to see, that Gallia should lose more men. Those who survived, who had some favor in the eyes of luck, now saw it turn against them. Two years ago, the flower of Gallia was dealt a severe blow by the hands of man, and now it is nature's turn.
The streets of Bruhl, normally vibrant and full of townspeople, are eerily silent, so silent that the creaking of the mill can be heard as a loud groan mourning the lost. A paper blows in the wind, skimming low over the ground. I step on it as I take my trek to the hospital. A skull and crossbones grins at me, as striking as the bold lettering above and below it:
WEAR FACE MASKS! WASH YOUR HANDS!
FLU HAS ALREADY CLAIMED 3 MILLION EUROPAN LIVES. DON'T BE THE NEXT ONE!
From such a stern warning one might expect the day to look like the end of the world. By no means. I doubt I have seen a clearer day since winter's beginning. Spring is upon us, and although the sky and the land have dressed for the part, man will see no new life for a while.
The thought gives me a pain in my heart as I think of my dearest friends lying in bed at the hospital, and of their daughter lying in her crib in my home. Theimer…Sonah…how many times did I tell the two of you to rest and to eat? Did you feel indebted to me because the two of you could find no job, first from discrimination, then from the plague? For the many recommendations I wrote to the companies you submitted your blueprints to and for giving you food and shelter?
No, if I were any less than a friend and a brother I would have long cast the two of you out of my sight, two Darcsens and their baby girl. I would have cast you out, maybe even persecuted you like those cultists, who do so for the sake of fairy tales. But I love the two of you as my brother and my sister. The two of you comforted me in my grief when Camille was slain, and now it is my turn.
I enter the hospital and give a nod to the nurse at attendance. She knows who I am, knows who I am here for. I walk down the hall as quickly as I can. The sound of sobbing over the dead and the hustle to hopefully save a life…I have had enough of that in one war.
I enter your room to find that both of you are sleeping. I take a seat at the chair and wait. Much as I would like to sleep (it was a sleepless night), I cannot. Instead I gaze at both your features…Theimer's burly build, and Sonah's slender, small features. How strong and healthy were the two of you on your wedding day three years ago?
After perhaps an hour, the two of you stir at around the same time. Just another sign showing how uncannily connected the two of you are.
"Belgen?" Theimer inquires.
"I'm here," I say with a smile, although my heart is sad.
Theimer has the strength to lift himself up to a sitting position, but Sonah simply lies there.
"How is Isara?" She inquires wearily.
"Martha is looking after her."
"She's in good hands," Sonah says with a sigh. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't worry with Martha but…she's my daughter…"
"No, don't be. I know…you're a good mother, Sonah."
She bites back tears. This is the first time I've seen her cry, even through the war. Nothing seemed to be able to shake her so.
"I wish I could have the time. It's only been a year…"
"It's all right, Sonah. We'll get through this, like we always have," Theimer reassures her.
"I guess, Theimer. I just feel so vulnerable…so tired…as if when I sleep I never know if I'll wake to see Isara again."
A silence prevails. This is completely out of character for Sonah…she is rarely impassioned in this way. Like the rest of her people, she was taught to stay away from trouble, to hide her feelings lest they expose weakness. And now, when she's at the point of weakness, what does she have to lose?
"Sonah. We'll see her again. I know it."
It's Theimer who stays in character as the strong yet again. I admire that about my friend. Although he has every bit of an excuse to be vulnerable, he takes it unflinchingly. A tenacity that brought him through the war.
I intervene and bring the conversation to a different topic. It is my attempt to sway them from such painful thoughts again. While on the outside they are bright again, in my heart I know this is nothing like the old times, when they were young and healthy. I stay until six, when the sun is starting to set, and I must return back home to tend to our children. I don't know whether they continue our conversation after I leave, but I hope I put them to some sort of ease.
That night I receive a call. Sonah is not well…she has been placed into emergency care. I am not a runner—but I knew that if I took the car I would have been too late. It would have taken too long to start in that cold night. By the time I reach the hospital, burst through the doors completely out of breath, she is almost gone. Just about half an hour before, she had vomited blood and fell unconscious.
I peer at her, looking for signs of life. Already the paleness of death is on her face, and her eyes are closed. I pray that there may be some sign of life…just one sign…
Just as this thought runs frantically through my mind, I see her right eye open just a slit. Just a slit…there is but the smallest glint of life there. Her lips move slowly, very slightly.
"Issss…."
That faint syllable escapes with her last breath. She is gone. Dead after only twenty years old. And how many thousands of children fifteen, sixteen, even fourteen died during the war? How many did I see die before my own eyes? Or during this damned epidemic? Why can I not feel for them as I feel for poor Sonah this night?
The death of one is a tragedy, but the death of thousands is a statistic.
I never knew I still had tears after Camille's death. I cried not just for Sonah, but for the husband and the little girl she left behind. But eventually, my tears gave way to fear. Fear that her death would finally break her husband's strong resolve, and that he too would be torn from me, another love lost.
No, I could not tell him.
I spent that night in the hospital. The doctors told me I could not stay in his room, but I defied them. What was my life compared to poor Sonah's? Or Camille's? Was I nobler, more unworthy of death than them?
I watched as he slept, just as I had the morning before. Somehow, miraculously, he had slept through the hustle and bustle when they took her out of the room. I prayed that he would continue sleeping.
It was perhaps nine in the morning when he finally awoke. He opened his eyes slowly, turning his neck to the side where Sonah's bed would be.
"Where is Sonah?" He asked listlessly. His voice was husky and weak.
I could hardly breathe. How could I answer?
"Theimer…she's…"
"Belgen, I must know."
"She's…"
I took out a handkerchief as a sob shook my body. I had never felt so vulnerable, not even when my wife passed from me. And this from a man who had been trained not to be vulnerable! But Belgen's expression remained the same.
"Sonah…she is gone."
Belgen turned his head to look up at the ceiling, closing his eyes. For the briefest moment I thought that he too would give up his life at that moment, but I saw his body shake as he cried without tears. The most weakness I had ever seen him betray, before he finally composed himself and became still.
"I thought…for the briefest moment we could enjoy peace together. But not in this world."
"Theimer, don't give up! I need you…the Edelweiss! Isara!"
He peered curiously at me.
"I never give up, Belgen. But perhaps everything happens for a reason."
I was flabbergasted. Men at death's door say strange things, but this was the strangest of them all.
"What could I provide my daughter in this world? Little more than what I could provide for myself. Only a father's love. But I know that you will be the better father, Belgen."
"Theimer…what are you saying?"
"Belgen," he said, grasping my hand. "My time is coming. You know how well dead men know their time. But promise me—swear to me!—if you ever loved me or Sonah…take Isara as your own daughter. Let her take your name. Then she will be safe. Swear?"
The tears dripped down my face as I gripped his hand, now thin with illness. "I swear…as long as I live."
"And let Welkin take her as a sister."
"Y-yes…"
As soon as I pledged my solemn oath, he gave a sigh and rested his head on his pillow again.
"My duty in this life is complete. I go to rest with my ancestors."
He closed his eyes, but then opened one briefly, looking at me.
"Belgen…let me face death alone and not agonize you further. For your sake."
The moment I left the room, he closed his eyes forever. And though I wanted to cry for his sake, I could not, lest I dishonor his strength through my own weakness. I had the duty I needed to carry out.
As I crossed the grassy hills to my home, I met Yaron, the Darcsen elder, riding on a mule. He had come to consecrate the dead under the traditional Darcsen tradition. As soon as he saw my face he knew what had happened.
"And the child?"
"She is to be my child."
He nodded. "Theimer was wise."
We were about to go our separate ways, when I turned to ask him.
"Yaron, do you believe good can come from this? That everything happens for a reason?"
He looked on the path ahead.
"My friend, it is not up to us to inquire of the Eternal of his reasons. But perhaps there is. I believe you Euro have the saying, 'Those whom the Gods love die young'? Is that not the best death, to die loved?"
The question was rhetorical, and he urged on his mule, leaving me standing there amidst a field of moist grass and scattered clumps of lion's paw.