deep breath, deep breath

Prompts from reka1207 on tumblr~

Secret of Kells © Cartoon Saloon

whisper

Not everyone hates him, but only Tang cares enough to be kind.

The rest drop their voices to whispers when he draws near, as if it is his ears that were wounded instead of his back and his chest. (Or perhaps they know, and their intent is only to wound.)

He does not correct them, and he does not stop them.

What they say is true—his fault—my children—my mother—my husband—so many lost—and each word feels like a new knife to his gut, and he bears the quiet whispers with their true weight. It crushes him.

Cellach knows he deserves it.

benign

The pieces of the gate that hadn't already burned are shifted back in front of the opening, but that doesn't stop little foxes from slipping in and out. When great wolfprints are found on the other side of Kells in spite of it, the blockade is the first thing to be used as firewood for the long winter ahead.

(Strangely, no wolfprints appear after that.)

Spring comes, and so do the birds. They pick at what's left of the huts for their nests, which they settle in spaces where the Wall cracked.

Long grass and forest plants grow along the path and in the clearing, until suddenly the survivors realize they can't separate the outside from the inside by simply looking at the ground. There's a small effort to stop it, to separate Kells from the forest again, but they give up when there's even more in its place the next morning.

The geese that once supplied the monks with quills come and go as they please. Eventually, so do the people.

As the years pass, ivy vines creep and moss makes wild patterns on the wall. It becomes—not common, but not very unusual to spot deer within the walls at night.

And in such quiet increments, Kells is reclaimed by the forest.

supine

Playing is great fun. Climbing always gives a rush. Discovering secrets—or being shown some—never stops being thrilling.

But sometimes he gets tired running around all day, delivering plans and supplies and working to improve his art. Sometimes she withdraws and calms and decides the forest needs quiet.

Those days, they don't need to speak. They simply find a clearing and lay down, watching the clouds drift by. Sometimes animals join, Aisling's wolves or deer, but they don't disturb them.

Those days shine on in their memories as the most beautiful.

brittle

Brother Aidan is so animated, exuberant, alive in everything he does. It's infectious. It's inspiring. Brendan loves it.

And maybe that's why he forgot the truth. That Aidan was old. That he'd lost everything but the Book and Pangur and the clothes on his back.

He'd gotten a glimpse of that when the Eye had been lost, but then Brendan got the other and that eclipsed the pain of Aidan's supposed failure so quickly and powerfully it was like it hadn't happened.

And then the Northmen attack Kells.

He tries to keep strong, but Brendan notices that Aidan is quieter, sits on his own when they need breaks and buries his face in his hands when he thinks Brendan isn't looking.

One night his eyes snap open, and he doesn't realize why until he feels the back he's pressed against shivering badly, even though the night is warmer than it's been for a while.

So Brendan wraps his arms around him, ignores how Aidan tries and fails to stop the trembling and his feeble protests, and isn't surprised when he gives up completely.

Sobs tear their way out from his mouth and it takes everything Brendan has not to join him, and then a little more to take deep breath and whisper reassurances instead. When the shaking gets worse Brendan holds on, holds on, as if his arms can keep all the pieces in place, stop the cracking and glue him back together.

It doesn't work, at least not much, but eventually the sobs lower to whimpers and half-formed pleas to God and I'm sorry I'm so sorry repeated over and over again, interspersed with several names he doesn't recognize and a few that he does, including Uncle's.

That cracks him and makes him sob a bit too, and that makes Aidan turn around and hug him tight and add his name to the endless litany of apologies, and that makes it even worse.

They fall asleep curled around each other like the first night they ran, faces nearly as freezing with the drying tears, and their voices are so hoarse that they can barely speak in the morning. He accepts Aidan's apology and Aidan accepts his.

Each night ends up like that, and each morning they do the same, and somehow eventually it isn't as hard as it was.

(But Brendan never forgets the truth again.)