Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Author's Note: These are not necessarily in chronological order. They all take place somewhere within the 20 years or so following the end of the OVA. So place them whenever makes you happy. Enjoy.

Hand in Hand

Chapter Two: Their Cruelest Enemy

The wind whipped harshly across Deedlit's face, and she gripped her furs tighter to her as the cold settled heavier on her bones. The snow fell lightly on her hood and cloak, twinkling in the dimming light of the setting sun. She felt Parn's arm pull her further into him and she gripped the front of his cloak as she watched the funeral procession leaving the grove of trees ahead of them. The fading grey light of dusk filtered through the trees to rest in slants against the cloaked figures treading a line through the snow. Deedlit and Parn watched from their place further up the hill as the priests and others made their way through the dark cathedral of trees and toward the temple of Marfa. The light of Cecil's staff leading the solemn procession did nothing to brighten the dark halls and columns of stone that made up the temple as the line of people moved up the steps and into Marfa's shrine.

Deedlit caught sight of Slayn bringing up the end of the line, a heaviness to his features, a stiffness in his walk. Beside him, his young daughter Neese whispered prayers to the earth mother in sobs that carried on the wind to Deedlit's ears.

Deedlit turned from the sight and buried her face in Parn's chest, her knuckles white from their grip on his cloak. It wasn't the cold this time that had Parn holding Deedlit tightly to him. His arms around her back were shaking, and Deedlit looked up surprised when she felt the drop of wetness atop her head. She blinked up at Parn, his eyes squeezed shut, the tears hot against his lids.

"Parn." It was so soft she thought the wind might have carried his name off before he could hear it.

But he opened his eyes slowly, catching the furrow of her brow, the shaking of her lips. He opened his mouth to speak, and knew that it was useless.

She swallowed thickly, raising a hand to his face. He leaned in to her touch, his eyes closing once more.

"I want…" His voice broke, and Deedlit could only whisper soft hushing sounds, could only hold him closer, could only tremble with him as the deep hymm of voices rose from the temple of Marfa behind them. And as they stood in the cold and snow of Tarba, the prayers of peace for Leylia resonating through the dark hills, they could both only wait in wanting and grieving and knowing that mortality would always be the cruelest of their enemies.