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seikilosTitle: Green Is For the Goddess
Fandoms:![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
luceti, Tales of Legendia, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Tales of Phantasia, original works
Genre: Angst/Gen
Rating: PG
Words: 1178
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the above media.
Summary: A second funeral and a second farewell. There will not be a third.
Author's Notes: This one was written in I believe early November--I can't exactly remember. It took quite a bit of editing, but I'm pretty pleased with how it came out. I certainly can't say this is how things are going to end, but...it's a possibility.
This is the sequel to "White Is For Remembrance" and makes far more sense if you read it second, so anyone who hasn't read that one yet probably will want to first.
It's rare to attend the same man's funeral twice, even when you are the companion of the Weaver of Time. Dhaos wishes—though he of course would never say as much—that if it were necessary for him to do so, it could at least have been the funeral of someone he liked.
The two funerals are as different as black and white—and by now, he knows that difference all too well. The first was for a man whose life's thread had been cut short by violence, attended by few on a grim day. Grief was tainted by anger and despair, the air filled with past resentments and wrongs never righted.
It's still raining today, but this is the funeral of a man who had lived a long, full life, one that had drawn to a peaceful close. It is attended by old friends whose bonds hold in spite of the death of one who was dear to them.
His gaze shifts down to where Grune stands by his side. She holds his hand in one of hers and a bouquet of daisies in the other; it seems they exist here, as well. He shelters the both of them with an umbrella that is a subdued green this time, not black.
She looks better than she had the last time. She seems calm and at peace as she observes the signs of a happy life, not a life of pressing on in the face of crushing circumstances. She listens to the service with something like contentment as friends speak with love of a man whose story has at last come to an end.
When Grune steps forward to toss her bouquet on the casket, it falls amidst a garden's worth of flowers of all kinds. There are even other daisies. Grune's offering does not stand in the stark contrast of white on red, but mingles with the gift of another person who had known the dead man well enough to confidently break with tradition.
At the other funeral, this was where their time on the world ended. Today is different. Instead of silently slipping away, Grune seeks out two of the mourners in particular. Dhaos doesn't so much as consider leaving her alone; he follows without hesitation.
She waits patiently for an opening in the line of friends giving and receiving comfort, and when a blond woman in front of her moves away, she steps in.
"My condolences," Grune says to the older, graying man with green eyes, and with a start, Dhaos realises this is Helios Sprensonne. The woman by his side, then, who is making motions with her hands directed at Helios, must be—
Grune is speaking. "It's all right. I understand."
She lets go of Dhaos' hand and does something quick with her hands in return. The lines on the face of the woman who can only be Ginia Solana deepen as she smiles. Her dark hair is threaded through with white, and even knowing the brevity of human lives, even knowing that his already poor sense of the passage of time has deteriorated since joining Grune, it's something of a shock to see the pair having aged so. He can only imagine how Grune feels—but then again, perhaps she is accustomed to it.
Helios is frowning. "I'm sorry—do I know you? Forgive me if I've, um, forgotten you. I-It's been a trying few days."
Dhaos sets a hand at the small of her back, but Grune doesn't hesitate as she replies, "I am Grune. This is my partner, Dhaos. I was a friend of Giles' from his younger days."
Ginia signs something, and Helios mumbles, "From his...?" Both are frowning in a kind of searching confusion.
Grune doesn't give them time to remember. She smiles and says, "I wish you strength in the coming days. Thank you for the love you showed Giles. He was worthy of more than he was often willing to admit."
Then she steps forward, away from his hand, to hug first Ginia, then Helios. Both embraces are awkward and unsure—so different, he's positive, from how they had been in Luceti—but she doesn't falter. Instead, she smiles one last time, acknowledges the confused thanks of both, and moves on. He is left to nod stiffly and once again follow.
He keeps pace as Grune walks out of the cemetery, silently cursing his inability to shelter her from anything but the rain. She searches for a private location so they can warp away. It's a relatively simple matter; the cemetery is surrounded by tall trees, many of which still retain their leaves. Despite the greyness of the rain, they're still bright with the colours of fall.
When she finally stops and turns to face him, in the time it takes her to breathe, he's wrapped her in his arms (umbrella be damned) and has pressed a kiss to her half-parted lips. He holds her close afterwards, comforting her and comforted in turn by the weight of her head on his shoulder.
"Thank you, Dhaos, but I am fine," she says as he knew she would. "I have no need for sympathy, though I am grateful you are thinking of me."
He could insist (for isn't being forgotten by dear friends a death in itself?), but he does not. He has no words that can adequately express his thoughts—not in a way she would accept—but he has his arms to hold her against the warmth of his body, and that must be enough.
After some moments, Grune steps back. "I must go to confirm something. I shall return in an instant."
"What is it?" he asks. And why must he be left behind?
"I need to see if Giles' fate is the correct one," she says and vanishes in a flurry of feathers.
Those feathers have barely begun their descent when she returns, quiet but satisfied.
"Is it?" he asks, though he believes there to be little need for the question.
"It is."
Instead of returning to their current world immediately, Grune tilts up her head and takes in the uncountable colours of the leaves around them, not so much as blinking when raindrops splash onto her cheeks and forehead. It isn't nearly as beautiful where they will be going.
". . . What would you have done if his fate were not the correct one?"
Grune turns her attention from the leaves to him. "I would have had a brief word with the Powers That Be."
"'The Powers That Be'?"
"The deity of his Earth."
She says no more and seems to expect no response, for which he is grateful. Though he loves Grune with all his soul, that does not mean there are not times when she frightens him with who she is.
She must sense his mood, for she allows him the moments he needs for her words to settle before she takes his hand. He hasn't even the time to twine his fingers through hers before she closes her eyes, and they melt into feathers and leave the world behind.
Fandoms:
luceti, Tales of Legendia, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Tales of Phantasia, original worksGenre: Angst/Gen
Rating: PG
Words: 1178
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the above media.
Summary: A second funeral and a second farewell. There will not be a third.
Author's Notes: This one was written in I believe early November--I can't exactly remember. It took quite a bit of editing, but I'm pretty pleased with how it came out. I certainly can't say this is how things are going to end, but...it's a possibility.
This is the sequel to "White Is For Remembrance" and makes far more sense if you read it second, so anyone who hasn't read that one yet probably will want to first.
It's rare to attend the same man's funeral twice, even when you are the companion of the Weaver of Time. Dhaos wishes—though he of course would never say as much—that if it were necessary for him to do so, it could at least have been the funeral of someone he liked.
The two funerals are as different as black and white—and by now, he knows that difference all too well. The first was for a man whose life's thread had been cut short by violence, attended by few on a grim day. Grief was tainted by anger and despair, the air filled with past resentments and wrongs never righted.
It's still raining today, but this is the funeral of a man who had lived a long, full life, one that had drawn to a peaceful close. It is attended by old friends whose bonds hold in spite of the death of one who was dear to them.
His gaze shifts down to where Grune stands by his side. She holds his hand in one of hers and a bouquet of daisies in the other; it seems they exist here, as well. He shelters the both of them with an umbrella that is a subdued green this time, not black.
She looks better than she had the last time. She seems calm and at peace as she observes the signs of a happy life, not a life of pressing on in the face of crushing circumstances. She listens to the service with something like contentment as friends speak with love of a man whose story has at last come to an end.
When Grune steps forward to toss her bouquet on the casket, it falls amidst a garden's worth of flowers of all kinds. There are even other daisies. Grune's offering does not stand in the stark contrast of white on red, but mingles with the gift of another person who had known the dead man well enough to confidently break with tradition.
At the other funeral, this was where their time on the world ended. Today is different. Instead of silently slipping away, Grune seeks out two of the mourners in particular. Dhaos doesn't so much as consider leaving her alone; he follows without hesitation.
She waits patiently for an opening in the line of friends giving and receiving comfort, and when a blond woman in front of her moves away, she steps in.
"My condolences," Grune says to the older, graying man with green eyes, and with a start, Dhaos realises this is Helios Sprensonne. The woman by his side, then, who is making motions with her hands directed at Helios, must be—
Grune is speaking. "It's all right. I understand."
She lets go of Dhaos' hand and does something quick with her hands in return. The lines on the face of the woman who can only be Ginia Solana deepen as she smiles. Her dark hair is threaded through with white, and even knowing the brevity of human lives, even knowing that his already poor sense of the passage of time has deteriorated since joining Grune, it's something of a shock to see the pair having aged so. He can only imagine how Grune feels—but then again, perhaps she is accustomed to it.
Helios is frowning. "I'm sorry—do I know you? Forgive me if I've, um, forgotten you. I-It's been a trying few days."
Dhaos sets a hand at the small of her back, but Grune doesn't hesitate as she replies, "I am Grune. This is my partner, Dhaos. I was a friend of Giles' from his younger days."
Ginia signs something, and Helios mumbles, "From his...?" Both are frowning in a kind of searching confusion.
Grune doesn't give them time to remember. She smiles and says, "I wish you strength in the coming days. Thank you for the love you showed Giles. He was worthy of more than he was often willing to admit."
Then she steps forward, away from his hand, to hug first Ginia, then Helios. Both embraces are awkward and unsure—so different, he's positive, from how they had been in Luceti—but she doesn't falter. Instead, she smiles one last time, acknowledges the confused thanks of both, and moves on. He is left to nod stiffly and once again follow.
He keeps pace as Grune walks out of the cemetery, silently cursing his inability to shelter her from anything but the rain. She searches for a private location so they can warp away. It's a relatively simple matter; the cemetery is surrounded by tall trees, many of which still retain their leaves. Despite the greyness of the rain, they're still bright with the colours of fall.
When she finally stops and turns to face him, in the time it takes her to breathe, he's wrapped her in his arms (umbrella be damned) and has pressed a kiss to her half-parted lips. He holds her close afterwards, comforting her and comforted in turn by the weight of her head on his shoulder.
"Thank you, Dhaos, but I am fine," she says as he knew she would. "I have no need for sympathy, though I am grateful you are thinking of me."
He could insist (for isn't being forgotten by dear friends a death in itself?), but he does not. He has no words that can adequately express his thoughts—not in a way she would accept—but he has his arms to hold her against the warmth of his body, and that must be enough.
After some moments, Grune steps back. "I must go to confirm something. I shall return in an instant."
"What is it?" he asks. And why must he be left behind?
"I need to see if Giles' fate is the correct one," she says and vanishes in a flurry of feathers.
Those feathers have barely begun their descent when she returns, quiet but satisfied.
"Is it?" he asks, though he believes there to be little need for the question.
"It is."
Instead of returning to their current world immediately, Grune tilts up her head and takes in the uncountable colours of the leaves around them, not so much as blinking when raindrops splash onto her cheeks and forehead. It isn't nearly as beautiful where they will be going.
". . . What would you have done if his fate were not the correct one?"
Grune turns her attention from the leaves to him. "I would have had a brief word with the Powers That Be."
"'The Powers That Be'?"
"The deity of his Earth."
She says no more and seems to expect no response, for which he is grateful. Though he loves Grune with all his soul, that does not mean there are not times when she frightens him with who she is.
She must sense his mood, for she allows him the moments he needs for her words to settle before she takes his hand. He hasn't even the time to twine his fingers through hers before she closes her eyes, and they melt into feathers and leave the world behind.
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