Disclaimer: Velgarth and its denizens are the property of Mercedes Lackey. I make neither claims of ownership nor profit for this work of fanfiction.
Breaking
I stare at the bright smile, defiant almost, in the face of crushing reality.
Defiant. Bright. My shining light, the one who balanced me. Too good, people say. Too bright… she burned too quickly and fiercely for this world. It was impossible not to love her.
And yet, she chose me. Me, the quiet one, dusty and myopic from my precious books, the one who shunned my fellow Heralds in favor of the solitude of my study. Even now my whites show signs of gray, where dust has settled into the folds. My study used to be my haven, now it is my retreat.
Only there can I cry.
Not here. Not in the face of the brilliant smile in the wasted face.
I smooth back strands of roughly cropped hair, the once vibrant stuff now limp in my hand, no longer shining, even in the light through the window. It used to be long, a soft curtain about her body, but that is gone, sacrificed to the knife when it became too much for her fragile body to support.
I hold her hand in silence. There are few words here, now. Each breath is too much of a labor to waste precious air on speech. Conversations that once lasted hours are reduced to a few labored words. I dare not speak. My voice would betray me.
She knows though. Her eyes are shadowed above that smile, the lines on her face are those of sadness, not joy. When two minds are joined so closely there are no secrets.
She looks so out of place, in the big bed. She is supposed to be standing beside it, calm and radiant. Now her greens hang loose on her body, worn more out of stubborn persistence than as a badge of office – her power is long since directed inward.
The frail hand in mine squeezes gently, healer still trying to give comfort. My chest aches from the effort of keeping my breath steady, my throat raw from choked back sobs.
How do you say goodbye?
How can anyone be expected to look at the only person they have ever loved, and know that it is the last time? To know that the beloved face will never again be seen, that the familiar voice will be forever silenced… worse, to know that your mind will be torn in half, the soft green presence lost.
And yet I must. Must bend over, kiss the pale lips for the last time, must watch the eyes dim with pain. My hand shakes, trying to smooth away the lines etched into her forehead. I listen to the ragged breaths grow fewer, the pause between each longer. The hand in mine grows tighter, as if trying to hold on to me, on to life, but the battle has been too long, and there is no fire left, no reserves. It is lost.
My heart cries out as the eyes that have captured my own loose focus, my mind grasps desperately for the familiar touch that slides away, roots torn from my heart, leaving only memory. A low voice, unrecognizable, cries out and it is a moment before I realize that it is me that cries, the held-back tears released to seep slowly down my face, landing to create dark splotches on the pale green bedding. The world tips, spinning, and I find myself lying across the bed, clutching the beloved form to my chest as if to call her back.
But she is gone.
And my heart will never be whole.
I am there for a time – moments or candlemarks, I know not. Time is relative, grief eternal. An equine sound rouses me though, a bell-like tone chimes against the ground outside the window. A long nose pokes through the open frame, followed by a white head and neck.
Still no words, but a mind wraps itself around my own, love and shared grief mingled. I allow myself to be led, rising from the bed to go to the window, leaning against the white form, my only anchor. Gladly, I drown myself in blue.
Love and grief are forever.
