deep breath, deep breath

Another old oneshot I dusted off and fixed up.

Secret of Kells © Cartoon Saloon

The trees flash by, slapping your face and clawing your hair. You're bleeding, reminding you of the first time you ventured past the walls. It hurts.

That's good. It means you're still awake, still able to try to help.

"Aisling!" This isn't the first time you call her name, but it's a scream now, raw and terrified. If she's there...if she wants to—

(you're just a mortal after all)

—she'll hear you, and she will come.

A blindingly white wolf flickers into existence beside you so suddenly you jump up in shock and nearly tumble over. She giggles and you smile weakly, but it fades—there's no time for that now.

"Aisling," you whisper, and your voice breaks. You try again, but you haven't planned this, you're almost afraid. "I don't—I don't know what to do—"

The story of the last few hours spill from your mouth like blood.

Cellach. Uncle. He was there. Alive. He didn't—

He saw the Book. You showed him the Book. He was smiling-he'd been smiling, more than you, because shock-pain-fear of the memories of his form on the snow warred inside, while his shock flew straight to joy. But he was smiling more then, and weeping he was so happy

but he had been rasping so much; each breath was dragged out and crackled like a dying fire.

His eyes were so calm but you leaped forward and told him to calm down, breathe. And then you whispered so Tang couldn't hear I'm still here, don't leave me, please?

You felt selfish then, but you haven't seen him in so long—you didn't know he was alive—you saw the arrow jutting from his shoulder, and the snow and the flames—how—?

but it didn't matter. Uncle is dying, and you could tell from the trembling and guilt and fear in his intonation ("Angel of Darkness! Not yet! Not yet! I need time!") that he hadn't held any more joy than he had even before the Wall was more than plans.

He deserves more happiness than a single glance at the Book.

So you did the only thing you could. You held his hand and kept him breathing with the time of your own until his eyes slid shut, and though it still rattled and his heartbeat was thready you dared to leave.

You placed the Book onto his lap, ordered Tang and Pangur to stay as politely as you could, and ran into the forest.

And the words finally dry up in your throat. You're kneeling on the ground, though you don't remember falling. But that doesn't matter, either.

You stare into Aisling's frost-green eyes and whisper, "Will you help me?"

Not "Can you help me?", because that almost didn't matter. Will you? Will you? Do you still care for me like when I was young and always sneaking out to see you? Or have I stayed away too long?

For a single, trembling instant, neither of you move, even to breathe. You simply stare, try to see the truth, the hope, the friendship that may have lived through it all—

And there's a child standing before you, a grin playing around her lips, and a cool but comfortable hand grabbing at your fingers. "Maybe I can," she laughs, and suddenly you feel like a monster for ever doubting her.