Spoilers C3E109

Dear Departed

She remembers that first night in that land of eternal chill and dark.

Her heart burning with a question, her head full of plans to grasp the answer unhindered.

And then a voice.

"How rare a sight, a star so bright within my domain of gloom."

Him. Death. Fate. Winter.

Personified, no exemplified.

No, Deified.

"I was expecting you," he says.

She can remember the voice but not the whole of it. There are facets missing that ache within her soul like a pained muscle.

Yet his face is lost to her and lost to all because of their bargain.

It had started small conversations, interrogations, and sparing commentary that enlivened her in a way she had not expected.

She doesn't know what saw him engage with her so readily.

But she remembers how things had evolved, the conversations growing longer, delving deeper, becoming soulful, more personal.

She shirked responsibilities for their parlays, delved deeply into lore hidden and forgotten to challenge his assertations.

"You take risks beyond measure; surely you do not miss my company so much that you would seek to join it permanently?" he challenged one morning, observing fresh scars.

"You care for my wellbeing on this side of your door, oh lord?" she had challenged, smirkingly.

"Well, of course. There are no stars beyond my threshold." was his response, wry and witty, in a way one would be befuddled to join with a being so shadowed of countenance. That part she does remember

She also recalls when she dared to ask him about his domain.

"How did you come by your domains?" she demanded.

He had paused, staring at her pensively. How she wishes she could draw forth the lost color of his eyes.

"One I chose." he returned.

"Which?" she asked.

"Death," he stated.

"Whatever for, no one wishes for Death." she scoffed.

"There are things that even my ilk can not shake," he replied, turning away from her. "Though I will counter, if none would truck with Death, then why are you ever within my domain?"

She had conceded his point ruefully, yet as ever, more questions lingered.

"And the others?" she asked.

"They came to me, as all things do when they pass," he stated cryptically.

"Fate can die?" she responded incredulously, "Winter?"

There is no response.

Yet she would learn in time that, yes, even the Gods had endings.

"I am tired." he muttered, holding her hand in his, seeing her as what they had become without realizing, an equal, "Would you help me?"

Had she loved him before then? She can't say, but their work together, the intimate hunt and scrawling of such a work, the bond that it forged, unspoken, unbidden, that... that cemented it.

She loved him, and she killed him, and he thanked her as he went.

The Rite of Ascension

A Funeral Rite.

Their hands were woven together by the thread, and snow and raven down, a mask to hide her tears, dispassion enshrouding grief.

She can't remember the exact moment that he passed, but she remembers the embrace before, leading to...

Leading to...

Dissolution. Dissatisfaction. Dread.

No one knew what they had been.

Death lies slain, and all hail the new.

His Usurper.

Not his Friend, His Peer, His... Love.


Emhira awakens in Hawk Hill, clutching for her heart, tears not fully her own tracking down her face.

Why now does she recall him?

The answer is simple after a moment of call.

Aeor looms above her.

And within it lies oblivion.

Not Peace, not him, not the ending she seeks.

Or is it... should she accept it and find her way into his embrace once more?

Finally, see his face again for the first time in centuries.

Remember all that had, all they had been, not the fractured, fractile story that had been placed upon her by her own hands.

"My Lady, it's time?" her champion states, pushing open the lip of her tent.

Is it?

"I'm coming," Emhira responds, drying her tears as the scent of winter briefly meets her nose.