ANGST ANGST ANGST ANGST
Sorry I'm just better at writing angst
betaed by WhatAreAllTheseTears
Her grief is quiet.
She sits at the edge of the deathbed, still holding onto the last remnants of her husband. Her children hold her, gently, whispering that it's time for her to let go, for her to let him go. She doesn't want to. Ever so slowly, they take her trembling hand from his slack one. They help her stand and they help her walk to the door. It's been a long time since she could walk on her own, all that time carrying all those books really did hurt her back in the end (just like he said they would). She cries without words, tears silently drip down her face. She wipes her hair, once vibrant blue now a shiny silver, from her face so it doesn't get wet.
On the anniversary of his death she goes to his grave. She gives him some of his favorite snacks. Every now and then she shines his iron headstone, running her hands slowly over the inscription. She reads to him sometimes too, says she thinks he might be able to hear her. Sometimes she stays up late to reads his favorite book, or she falls asleep on his side of the bed, Pantherlily wrapped in her arms. All this she does in remembrance of him. All of it quietly.
Her grief is nurturing.
She sits on a chair; the youngest generations of the guild surround her. She smiles and her children sit by her side, staring up at their mother. She takes a sip from a mug and the Guild begins to quiet down until there is nothing heard but the breathing of mages. She opens her mouth and begins to speak. She was always a storyteller, always a teacher. She relays tales in the wake of her husband. She tells them stories of the Guild's previous masters, she tells them of dragons and those who can kill them. She tells them stories that they know and that they love to hear.
Sometimes when it gets late, she and her friends are the last ones in the guild and they remember. They speak of their lost ones, their loved ones. They tell stories of when their children were still children, when those loved ones were still alive. She has readings of Lucy's book. They love when she reads it. They love when she conjures illustrations with her magic. They love when her dragons roar and when the fire looks so very real. They love it all.
Her grief is painful.
She misses him.
His grief is loud.
He won't let her go. He screams and claws his way back towards the deathbed, roaring her name. His children drag him away. He calls her name even once he's too far away to help. His tears burn down his cheeks and they mark his pain for everyone to see. He hasn't shaved since she first laid down on that bed, his hair unwashed. He wipes it out of his face now, his son pulls strands back from his face, and his daughter holds him in her arms. They huddle in a trio, father, son and daughter, and they mourn her. His cries can be heard from Alverez.
He goes to her grave religiously. He reads her books and gives her updates on the idiotic things that their friends do. He talks to her at all times of day and night. He sleeps on her side of the bed, or in the Guild library. He fights in her name, making everyone know just who he is fighting for. He screams it like a war cry, the Pups screaming it too right after him (that is when the three of them still go on missions). Lily finds him alone most nights, with something of hers near him. Lily is the one to take him to bed. Lily is the one to remind him that he is not alone. He thanks his cat for that.
His grief is dangerous.
He yells too much because of it. He scares the younger ones sometimes. He knows he does it, he just can't stop. He doesn't know how. Sometimes he'll be fine, for days—weeks even, then something will happen. Something small. And he'll just… snap. He'll scare someone and, in the process, he'll terrify himself. He'll lock himself away; images of a terrible first meeting and a specific crucifixion haunt him for days. It takes his friends and family to pull him out, and it's not easy. She was the only thing that could make anything easy when it came to him. Her and the children of course.
Sometimes he gets the shakes, sometimes he gets unnecessarily loud. Sometimes he wakes screaming from nightmares. He tries to work out, but at times his body dissolves under the pressure. Every now and then he'll break a bone or bruise himself, his children will freak out. His daughter will cuss him into tomorrow (sometimes he understands why his wife was always annoyed when he encouraged his daughter), his son will help him take care of his injuries. They will both take him home, and send him to bed. They'll tell Pantherlily to watch over him and Lily will. They'll see him the next day, take him to his wife's grave, and spend the day as a family while he mourns.
His grief is painful.
He misses her.