Title/theme: LETTING GO
Genre: angst
Approx time line: After GS
Summary: "Stop it Murrue, you're only hurting yourself."

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"Ding-dong."

The church bells echoed in the silence of the dusk, calling the day to a close.

In the warm light of the sunset, a woman walked into the churchyard, carrying a bouquet of flowers. The gentle sea air tossed her chestnut hair, dyed amber by the setting sun.

She walked around the building to the little graveyard beyond. This private place had been around for quite a long time, as some of the tombstones dated back to the AD era. But in a quiet little corner stood a few monuments where fresh flowers still kept them company.

She picked her way over to her destination, standing before one in particular. It was simple marble, on it, engraved the words:

Mwu la Flaga
CE 43—CE 71
Loyal friend,
Brave hero.
Hawk of Endymion

Such simple words for such a complex man. But when they asked her what to put on it, she was suddenly at a loss. How could she sum him up with such few words?

She bent and gently placed the flower in front of the stone, picking at a few weeds absentmindedly. She gently traced his name with her fingers, feeling the cool marble brushing against her skin.

It was empty, the grave, as most soldiers' were. They never managed to find a single trace of him, not even a single speck of stardust to hold his fleeting soul.

She didn't know whether the military gave him remembrance. Probably not. So she and the others gave him a place to rest behind Reverend Malchio's church.

It saddened her. That all that was left of the great Hawk of Endymion was an empty grave, along with few other memorabilia, and the precious memories of those few who knew him.

She still found it hard to believe, hard to accept and swallow. In some recess of her mind, she refused to believe that he was gone for good. Because they never found his remains, some part of her heart wanted to believe that he was still alive by some miracle.

"Stop it Murrue, you're only hurting yourself."

She didn't turn around at the voice, or reply to it. Instead, she closed her eyes and tried to block it out.

"Please stop this already. You need to accept it and move on," the voice repeated.

No, I won't. I won't accept it.

The figure moved closer and tried to place a hand on her shoulder. She flinched at the ghostly touch and swatted the hand away.

"Murrue…" he sounded hurt, disappointed, sad. "Please…"

"No, you stop it!" she finally turned to face him, eyes shining with unshed tears, making him back away in surprise at her sudden outburst. "Why are you doing this? Why do you insist on crushing my hopes like this? It, it's all I have left!" The last bit came out hysterically as she choked on her tears.

"Because I don't want you to hurt yourself anymore…" he answered quietly. "All you're doing is hurting yourself by refusing reality and giving yourself false hope. And it's going to hurt even more when that hope breaks."

"Oh as if that's anything new," she retorted. Suddenly she was angry at him, angry at everything. In a flurry of anger, she took a lily from the bouquet and flung it at him, and missed.

"I'm sorry," he picked up the flower and placed it back with the others. "But I'm not here anymore, so what good is it to make yourself angry?"

"I don't know, I just…" she trailed off, the anger leaving her. Suddenly, she felt tired as drops of tears fell on white petals.

"Don't be so stubborn Murrue." He knelt beside her and brushed back her hair and caught her tears. "Let go."

"Why should I?"

"Because you want to, because your conscience says so. Because part of you has already accepted it."

She looked at him strangely, "How do you know?'

He smiled sadly as he straightened up. "Because, you agreed to create this," he gestured at the marble monument, "Besides, I'm only a figment of your imagination, remember…"

She watched as he faded into the night, his voice just an echo in her jumbled mind.

She turned back and stared at the cold marble, feeling the tears dry on her cheeks and sighed. She had lived most of her twenty-six years without him in her life, so why couldn't she do it again?

Because he had left a footprint in her heart, an everlasting impression that would never go away. And when he left, he took a piece of her heart with him.

She looked at the empty grave again. Maybe it was time that she did let go. She had tried on many occasions, but never had the courage to let go completely. Part of her stubborn self refused, and another part of her was afraid, afraid that she had nothing else left besides that empty hope, and once she'd let it go, she'd be as empty as the grave in front of her.

She didn't know which hurt more, knowing that she was only fooling herself, or the emptiness.

Murrue closed her eyes, said a silent prayer, and left him to rest in peace, knowing that tomorrow she'd try again.