Several seconds passed and he felt nothing. He gradually became aware that Marguerite was still screaming but now it was O'Connell's name.
"BYRON! NO! Please don't die!" Marguerite was running headlong towards the silent figure at Roxton's feet. As he looked down, he saw O'Connell painfully clutching the spear that was poking out of his chest. He immediately dropped to his knees to help the man who had just saved his life . . . probably at the expense of his own.
Marguerite reached him at the same time and grabbed Byron's hand. Tears were trickling down her face as she said, "You're going to be okay Byron. You'll be fine!"
Byron looked sadly at her face and playfully said in a strained voice, "Now, Marguerite, we've always been honest with each other . . . let's not stop now so close to the end."
"It's not the end! It can't be!"
Roxton looked from one to the other and felt as though he should go for he was intruding but this man just saved his life, he had to try save his. But even as he sat there thinking of what he could do, he knew it was hopeless. The wound was fatal and even if it wasn't, he had already lost too much blood. Vaguely he became aware of O'Connell's penetrating look focusing on him.
"Roxton, take care of Marguerite. You're the one she's always loved-"
He broke off as he felt Marguerite start to make a denial. "It's true, don't bother to deny it. I'm not mad, sweetheart. You have made me the happiest I've ever been and I'm glad I could return the favor and give you a chance at the happiness you lost so long ago."
Then he focused back on Roxton, "You are as good a man as she told me you were. You deserve her but if you ever make her unhappy, I'll come back and haunt you for the rest of your life," he said with a slight smile.
He turned his face towards Marguerite and said, "I love you." Then he was gone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
One month later
Roxton awoke with a feeling of dread. He had the dream again. The guilt of his survival at the cost of O'Connell's life had been attacking his conscience ever since that night, causing him to dream it was his life lost instead of the other man's.
He replayed the night in his mind one more time. He had never seen Marguerite more upset and his own heart tore in two when she deftly avoided his comforting arms and quickly ran to Challenger. They stayed only long enough to fashion a stretcher to carry Byron body's back to the treehouse, the fear of returning warriors still too fresh to examine their emotions over the loss.
They had buried him right next to Summerlee's old garden, in shade provided by trees that were hundreds of years old. Everyone, including Roxton, was depressed over the loss of such a good man. He felt even more at a loss because he had never gotten a chance to really know the man who had saved his life.
Marguerite had been understandably subdued and he hadn't had a private moment to talk to her since Byron's death. Oh, he had tried, but every time she had skillfully avoided being alone with him.
He got out of bed, certain that he would not be sleeping anymore tonight, and walked out to the kitchen. It was then that he heard the elevator moving down and he knew it must be Marguerite going to visit the grave.
Fighting a silent battle within himself about whether to give her some solitude or go with her to protect her from danger, with a muttered curse he grabbed his rifle and took off after her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Marguerite was sitting by the pond thinking about the last couple of weeks. Byron's death was hitting her hard. He was such a good person, he deserved so much better than me!
The fact that he was right, that she had loved John all those years, tore at her already guilty conscience. She knew that he had given her a priceless gift by sacrificing his own life. Somehow that made the guilt even worse.
She knew that she should go to Roxton and tell him how she feels but it felt like she was betraying Byron. That's a lie, she thought, I'm not talking to John because I'm coward.
Byron told her once that each moment was a precious gift and if you didn't live it to the fullest you would never get a second chance. By not going to Roxton, she was demeaning not only her feelings for him, but Byron's life. If she didn't go on with her own life, he would have died in vain.
She would always love Byron but somewhere deep inside her, she knew that the best way to show that love would be to move on. He would have wanted it and she couldn't deny that she wanted it too. At the end, both of them realized that what they had, while wonderful and warm and caring, was in the past . . . to be cherished but not to relived every night in sorrow.
"I love you, Byron," she said softly, staring up at the sky.
Roxton heard the soft words and almost turned around to head back to the treehouse. Obviously, she did not feel the way Byron thought she did about him. But something stopped him from leaving, to his surprise he heard himself say, "He loved you too Marguerite."
She whipped around and her surprised eyes met his. "I know he did," she said with a sad smile as she wrapped her arms around herself.
"I love you too."
"I don't deserve it," was her only reply.
"I think you do and if you'll let me, I'll spend the rest of my life proving it to you."
Marguerite hesitated a few seconds before moving towards him and running her hands through his hair and cupping his face with them. "I love you too, John," she whispered, "I never stopped."
They stood there by the pond just holding each other until the sun rose over the nearby mountains. The bright morning sun marked the first day of the rest of their lives.
The End
"BYRON! NO! Please don't die!" Marguerite was running headlong towards the silent figure at Roxton's feet. As he looked down, he saw O'Connell painfully clutching the spear that was poking out of his chest. He immediately dropped to his knees to help the man who had just saved his life . . . probably at the expense of his own.
Marguerite reached him at the same time and grabbed Byron's hand. Tears were trickling down her face as she said, "You're going to be okay Byron. You'll be fine!"
Byron looked sadly at her face and playfully said in a strained voice, "Now, Marguerite, we've always been honest with each other . . . let's not stop now so close to the end."
"It's not the end! It can't be!"
Roxton looked from one to the other and felt as though he should go for he was intruding but this man just saved his life, he had to try save his. But even as he sat there thinking of what he could do, he knew it was hopeless. The wound was fatal and even if it wasn't, he had already lost too much blood. Vaguely he became aware of O'Connell's penetrating look focusing on him.
"Roxton, take care of Marguerite. You're the one she's always loved-"
He broke off as he felt Marguerite start to make a denial. "It's true, don't bother to deny it. I'm not mad, sweetheart. You have made me the happiest I've ever been and I'm glad I could return the favor and give you a chance at the happiness you lost so long ago."
Then he focused back on Roxton, "You are as good a man as she told me you were. You deserve her but if you ever make her unhappy, I'll come back and haunt you for the rest of your life," he said with a slight smile.
He turned his face towards Marguerite and said, "I love you." Then he was gone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
One month later
Roxton awoke with a feeling of dread. He had the dream again. The guilt of his survival at the cost of O'Connell's life had been attacking his conscience ever since that night, causing him to dream it was his life lost instead of the other man's.
He replayed the night in his mind one more time. He had never seen Marguerite more upset and his own heart tore in two when she deftly avoided his comforting arms and quickly ran to Challenger. They stayed only long enough to fashion a stretcher to carry Byron body's back to the treehouse, the fear of returning warriors still too fresh to examine their emotions over the loss.
They had buried him right next to Summerlee's old garden, in shade provided by trees that were hundreds of years old. Everyone, including Roxton, was depressed over the loss of such a good man. He felt even more at a loss because he had never gotten a chance to really know the man who had saved his life.
Marguerite had been understandably subdued and he hadn't had a private moment to talk to her since Byron's death. Oh, he had tried, but every time she had skillfully avoided being alone with him.
He got out of bed, certain that he would not be sleeping anymore tonight, and walked out to the kitchen. It was then that he heard the elevator moving down and he knew it must be Marguerite going to visit the grave.
Fighting a silent battle within himself about whether to give her some solitude or go with her to protect her from danger, with a muttered curse he grabbed his rifle and took off after her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Marguerite was sitting by the pond thinking about the last couple of weeks. Byron's death was hitting her hard. He was such a good person, he deserved so much better than me!
The fact that he was right, that she had loved John all those years, tore at her already guilty conscience. She knew that he had given her a priceless gift by sacrificing his own life. Somehow that made the guilt even worse.
She knew that she should go to Roxton and tell him how she feels but it felt like she was betraying Byron. That's a lie, she thought, I'm not talking to John because I'm coward.
Byron told her once that each moment was a precious gift and if you didn't live it to the fullest you would never get a second chance. By not going to Roxton, she was demeaning not only her feelings for him, but Byron's life. If she didn't go on with her own life, he would have died in vain.
She would always love Byron but somewhere deep inside her, she knew that the best way to show that love would be to move on. He would have wanted it and she couldn't deny that she wanted it too. At the end, both of them realized that what they had, while wonderful and warm and caring, was in the past . . . to be cherished but not to relived every night in sorrow.
"I love you, Byron," she said softly, staring up at the sky.
Roxton heard the soft words and almost turned around to head back to the treehouse. Obviously, she did not feel the way Byron thought she did about him. But something stopped him from leaving, to his surprise he heard himself say, "He loved you too Marguerite."
She whipped around and her surprised eyes met his. "I know he did," she said with a sad smile as she wrapped her arms around herself.
"I love you too."
"I don't deserve it," was her only reply.
"I think you do and if you'll let me, I'll spend the rest of my life proving it to you."
Marguerite hesitated a few seconds before moving towards him and running her hands through his hair and cupping his face with them. "I love you too, John," she whispered, "I never stopped."
They stood there by the pond just holding each other until the sun rose over the nearby mountains. The bright morning sun marked the first day of the rest of their lives.
The End