Heavy rain dibbled down the folds of his leather coat, the thickened hide shielding over a broad back and the pitter-patter turned into a gentle rhythm as the figure pulled up from a crouch. He had thrown back the hood he had worn over his head, leathery and soaked with rain and let water drip down the fine creases of his grim face. But even the rain could not wash away the sadness from his eyes. The rain was the only water running down his face.
Merric, Mercuxio Rastognlir, eldest son of Dardanus Rastognlir, once the Heir Apparent of the Bellkrath province, formerly a student, now a priest, and now a mourner. But he stood alone, having missed the funeral but a week ago when he came down from his parish at the news of his mentor's death. Markham Wallace was like a father to him, when his own father wanted nothing to do with him. He taught him all he knew, trained him, and was there when he needed him. But the old man was dead now, the result of an accident in the field.
Mercuxio stared out toward the headstone, with the Spear of Ansgar engraved on it, and with Markham's name on it. It seemed all to surreal, and for a moment the young priest thought if he closed his eyes tightly and then opened them, he could wake up from this strange dream. But he couldn't and he wouldn't and the rain that came down on the headstone and freshly tilled soil and grass around it was soaked.
Gently, Mercuxio knelt beside it, as to not disturb the soil overtop the grave and gently lay a string and pendant, carved of wood, down into the soil, the torch-light of St. Agratha. "Rest in Ansgar's stead, old friend," Mercuxio whispered to the headstone before he stood up and wiped the warmth that was threatening to overflow from his eyes.
Pulling his hood back up over his eyes, Mercuxio stood and gave a shuddering sigh, not willing to let himself come to tears over the man. Markham wouldn't want him too. So he buried his anguish deep inside of him and let it reside there.
The rain came down in heavy sheets, nearly blanketing the road as he moved. Her boots sloshed through many deep puddles as she moved her way through the cobblestone streets, up a hillside and in through the iron gates.
A sculpture of a woman with a blade greeted her as she moved past the first array of tombstones and down one of the smaller side paths dotted with stones. By now, she was soaked, even through her brother's cloak, and her boots had taken in water. She didn't care. She loved the rain..
and she had to get away. Her brother had kept her cooped up inside since the incident, since her rescue, and she found herself feeling like a bird in a cage.
She needed her freedom. SHe needed to breath.
Knowing no one would come out on a day like this, and also lamenting over her own last experience in the rain, Attalia Arrant continued forward, in the deeper section of the graveyard to where a young willow tree grew. Here, she knew there was a small plaque, one dedicated to the 'Nameless'. It was here, she knelt in reflection, in prayer, to those she knew from a time long past that had died or conveniently 'disappeared' just as she.
To think, so many had suffered under the torment of the church.. under Angsar's will, under the iron fist of religion. Tears welled up within her eyes, but she knew it was ok to cry- After all, who would know if the water on her face was tears.. or rain?
Finding, in her fit of crying, that her cloak was just too heavy to bear, she ripped it off in that moment just to allow the rain to fall upon her, dampening her hair and rivering against her skin, washing the flowing tears away. ANd there she stood beneath the willow tree, the winds picking up, taking her long brown hair nad scattering it around along with her fluttering cloak. And as the mists were rising off the ground, it almost appeared that the woman were some sort of a beautiful ghost.
Mercuxio Rastognlir was ready to give his leave to the headstone of the man he loved and looked up to. Water dripped from both his face and the top of his hood. Mist rose from the ground, shot through by the heavy rain. His boots were buckled tightly around his legs, leather trousers sliding the water off easily, with a doublet over a cloth shirt.
He was dressed for the rain, and only shivered once or twice from the cold winds that poured through the creases and folds of his open sleeves and collar. Aside from the howling wind, it was peaceful in the cemetery. And then a peculiar sound was carried on the wind. A soft sobbing that made the young priest look up and he saw a figure standing across from him just underneath the shade of a willow tree.
The sound was quite surreal and sent a chill down his spine. Though he knew it was none of his business, curiosity got the better of him and he stepped softly from his mentor's grave and stalked over to her, approaching her from behind. "Who do you mourn for?" he asked, water dripping from the edge of his hood.
She hadn't heard the man approach, so at his voice, her eyes lifted, but did not turn. She assumed, by the gruffness, it was an older man, and she lowered her gaze back down towards the base of the tree to where the rain waters continued to pool and ringletted the surface by staccatoed drops of falling rain.
She wasn't sure how to answer him, but slowly let a smile grace her saddened features.
"I mourn those who are lost without a marked grave. The ones fallen and the world has forgotten."
They were not words he had expected to hear, and certainly not at a moment like this. He didn't know how to reply to that; for at least he had the small thanks of knowing who it was he mourned for, who it was that he accepted the death of, and who it was that had taught him so much in learning to grow and prosper. His eyes lingered on the back of the woman's head and she might have felt him nod.
"Then they are not forgotten," he replied back. "You remember them. Is that not enough?"
At the man's word, she couldn't help herself but smile, and corrected him, or rather, informed him more plainly.
"Yes, but it is not that reason I mourn, sir. I mourn because no one will ever hear or believe how they died."
But she had. She knew the horrors, and she prayed for those in hopes that they at least could have found peace in death. These people she prayed for now....It was as if they had not ever existed... suffering a fate silenced from history by man.
"But it is kind of you to ask. I hope your own heart finds comfort here by the graves." And she continued to stare through the failing rain. "Many tears have been shed here. Perhaps as much as the rain."
"Perhaps it is better to look that these souls have found peace at last from whatever suffering ailed them," Meruxio reasoned, but he knew it was a generic answer to a not so generic moment. The young priest shifted unsettlingly behind her and almost stepped forward to examine the grave for himself. Though he knew he shouldn't have, he felt himself asking, "What was the reason of their passing?"
Attie, still stricken by the horrors that plagued her from her time as an experiment of the church, quickly found tears heating within her eyes. She knew not what to say to the man, if truths could only hold a candle to what she had felt and saw...
And dwelling back on the man's question, she felt a few hot tears roll down her face as she answered him in a broken whisper, "The church."
The answer was frankly unsettling when the words came back to him unexpectedly and Mercuxio peered at her with furrowed brows. "How can you be so sure?" he asked, softly. "I thought the Church was only trying to help those in need. I never thought they could kill anyone. Are you certain?" Despite his words and initial shock, a small grin played at the corner of his lips, but one he immediately pushed away and took a deeper look at the matter at hand. The woman's words ignited his curiosity at best, and he couldn't help but inquire as the definition of her words.
Though he asked many questions, she could find herself answering none. Tears were streaming endlessly down her face by now-
recalling the horrors, the chains, the anti-magics.. the machines...
A hand went to her lips as she gasped, trembling as she was through her tears.
Mercuxio knew it was not strange to find that the questions brought her to such a state, and that it answered more questions than words ever could. "You're tears do not go unheeded, I assure you," he answered with no small degree of remorse. "I take it they truly are in a better place. Any place is better than here."
She promised herself she would not cry. Not now. Not for anyone. ANd as she felt her lips trembling,s he bit back tears and half turned to the man, but did not expose her face, only the side of it, which her damp hair now hide.
"I assure you, the horrors they have seen is far worse than the peace of death. But do not worry yourself over me. We all have reasons to mourn."
Besides, who would believe her that the church could be so cruel, and , as her eyes went down to the grasses, she noticed.. just from the corner of her eyes, this man was in priest's clothes.
OOC: If he's not in priests clothes, I can fix that. I'll just erase it on my next turn
[I don't see why he would walk around in priest's clothes while on vacation. I think I wrote he was in regular clothes.]
Merric said nothing for a moment, and did not notice the side of her face, nor her hair, for his eyes lingered on the grave and the carving of the letters there. The grave would forever be nameless, a milestone in and of itself in the plethora of headstones with proper names and dates and lasting remarks left by family members.
"Indeed," he finally replied. "Some a weight more than others."
At his words, tears still clung to her eyes.
"And why is it you mourn here today, sir?" she said, blinking back tears and hoping his grievances might distract her from her own.
Mercuxio sighed and kicked at the we grass a little. "A friend of mine. A very dear friend. He was like a father to me," he answered plainly, unsure how much he wanted to divulge. "He was a good man."
Closing her lips, Attalia found herself smiling at his comment. Not because she was happy, but because she understood.
"I'm sorry to hear that. You have my condolences," she said softly. "The world could always use a good man."
"Indeed. Not many of those left. And more and more are gone every day," he commented. His voice grew darker and he peered back at the woman, looking her over as if to commit her to memory. "It was nice speaking with you. I hope the grief in your heart is some day lightened. That you find some peace and solace."
Attalia smiled at his kind words as she finally turned towards him.
"Thank you."
The rain was still coming down between the, slicking her hair to her head now and pooling in the crevices of her clothes. And as she turned, getting a good look at the man, at first she didn't recognize him, how could he? He was wearing a hood that hug low over his eyes to mask the rain.
So all she could do was smile at this stranger sweetly and listen to the gentle streaming noise of rain.
He took a step back when the woman at last turned to him and he blinked at her for a moment. There was a vague familiarity about her, but it wasn't particularly drawing as he gave her a rare smile and nodded. "You are most welcome," he replied. And turned to leave. But before he did he turned back to her, and gave her a clever smirk, something he rarely did to anyone else. before turning back.
Even through the rain, and his cloaked face, she caught the smile- a most memorable smile, a smile she recalled kissing in a world and time so long ago...
Blinking, she could hardly believe as she found herself whispering,
"Merric?"
A chill passed through his spine, when the wind carried the whisper toward his ears. He gave a small gasp and paused midstep. He turned around, eyes narrow as he peered back at the woman. "What did you say?" his voice rolled out. He stepped closer to her, trying to take in her features and understand why she was suddenly so familiar. "How do you know that name?"
When he turned around, at first she did not flinch as she looked at him, staring at the only parts she could see of his face- his lips.
Memories flooded back to her, the kisses like this, in the rain, beneath the bed, with her hands over his eyes so all she could see were his lips in which to kiss.
Gasping, she took a step back as he came near her.
"You're Merric Rastognlir, aren't you?" And then boldly, to prove her point, she grabbed onto his hood and threw it off and with a gasp, looked back into the most familiar face of a friend long forgotten. Or rather, he had always been something more than a friend.
Her heart froze within her chest, her mouth, gaping open as she peered back at him and exclaimed, "Oh my god..."
And all she could do, was stare.
Mercuxio took a step back at her words and his eyes grew wide in both horror and alarm. Aside from his congregation, no-one called him by Merric save for those that were most familiar with him. He stood back and peered at her face and it came back to him, little by little. "You!" he suddenly cried out. "You're dead! This cannot be! WHO ARE YOU!?"
At Mercuxio's exclamation, Attalia flinched and took a step back. She could hardly believe this as much as he did, but something within her, a deep pool of anger came forth and was seen flashing within her eyes as she suddenly took another step near to him and shouted,
"What is it of consequence to you who you meet in the grave?" For she knew far too well who Merric was. He had become a part of the church! And oh, how the cruel irony of it was as her good memories were soon mixing with the bad. "Just continue on with your mourning and just think of me as a ghost!" And she moved to storm past him.
Gods! To run into Merric Rastognlir of all men! And here! in the grave yard of all places!
He grabbed her at arm and snatched onto it with an iron hand. "Attalia?" he breathed. "Attalia Arrant?"
When he snatched onto her wrist, she gasped as a breath was snatched from her throat. Turning to him, she stared at him with teary eyes and gritting teeth.
"Let me go, Merric," she trembled, pulling at her wrist in hopes to free and, and whens he did, she kept her eyes to his, even though hers were shining with tears. "Just forget you saw me. Just keep pretending that I'm dead." And she moved to try to walk away again, her head spinning and her legs feeling like lead.
Gods.. Leif was going to kill her that someone she knew spotted her- Alive!
"But how can this be?" Merric breathed lightly. "You died. My mother herself saw your grave at your family home. She wrote to me... And yet here you are." He retracted his hand and placed it over his mouth. One friend dead and another a ghost in the flesh.
THe mountain of emotions broiling inside of Attalia was almost too much to bear. Somehow, her legs could not drag her away from him as she looked into his face, saw the shock, and horror, as she stumbled to take a few steps away.
"Then just remember me like that, Merric...please..." and she turned to rush away.
Gods! How could she be so foolish! Even knowing the hooded man was Merric.. she still managed to pull off his hood then expose herself! And she couldn't let him confirm that- that she was alive! No! She had to get out here and quick! But her legs had other plans as she slipped on a puddle of mud and had to clutch onto a nearby grave to stop herself from completely falling int he dirt.
Merric was stunned at this, at everything that suddenly came upon him in that moment. He felt dizzy as if the world were spinning around him faster and faster and he thought he was going to be sick.
When she fell, Merric had been holding on to a tree to keep himself from falling over. "I-I don't understand," he breathed holding into his chest.
She hadn't made it that far away, and despite the wind and rain, his voice carried.
She found herself sobbing now at his words, to think of a world long past.. of their world long past and just clutched onto the tomb stone as she shook.
"Sometimes it's best not to question fate, Merric.."s he spoke, and turned towards him, her eyes pleading but also sad and confused. "I might as well be dead..."
And she felt herself shake. "You.. you never answered my letters..."
"Letters?" he asked quizzically. "You never wrote to me. I recieved nothing of any letters of any kind from you. The last I heard of you was my mother's letter." He dropped his head and eventually found enough strength in a deep breath. "I thought you were gone from my life..."
"What do you mean what letters?" she found her voice shaking as she asked. "I wrote to you... every day since they found me out as a mage and placed me in the custody of the church... There were. several letters, at least a dozen or so you never answered!" she claimed, keeping her chin high now, and her angered, tear filled eyes directly on him.
What did he mean!? Had he truly not received them!?
At her words, he stood up, and righted himself. Did she truly say what he thought she said? He blinked at her and carefully pulled his hood back on his head. His face was soaked anyway he found his words had been stolen from him for the longest time. "A-a mage?" he breathed. "A mage? How could that be? I...I don't understand."
Anger still gripping her, she felt herself barely able to stand as she hunched over, rain soaked hair sticking to the front of her wet coat.
"Don't mock me, Merric! You stopped writing to me the moment you knew!" she said, hateful tears panging her eyes. THe shock he was feeling did not hit her. SHe was still too upset with him and so angry at the church, at what she had been through, to see his distress.
Merric backed away from her and moved more beside the tree. "I didn't know," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Ansgar.... No I didn't know, until now. I have to go. I have to leave." He felt like the world was spinning again and he turned on his heel, bolting for the cemetery gates.
Of course he had to go. And she stared after him bitterly for it. She never thought Merric was truly a coward, but to see him here today...
now she truly believed his was. But Gods!
She found herself crying, a hand cupped over her lips..
Now he knew...
and now what was to become of her? But instead of making chase, she , like a wilted flower, finally collapsed fully to the muddy ground.
Merric felt like he wanted to be sick and in fact he did. It wasn't long after he reached the cemetery gate that he paused, held his hands against the slick stone wall and puked his guts out, feeling dreadful, anxious and most of all pathetic. He cried, though he didn't want to and grew angry. He turned his eyes back to where he'd left Attalia. She was a mage, a magic-user, a vile entity against everything he'd been taught. But she had been his first love, his only love, and after all the years he'd known her, here she was again.
But she was angry and upset and spoke to him with vile disdain and he found himself retching again.
Her mind was spinning and for the life of her, she could not move on. So she waited, just for a spell, until finally her strength came back to her- and she let it come back as rage. Not knowing Merric was on the other side of the stone wall of the grave yard, she stormed out towards it's exit now to make her own hasty retreat, and when she did, she nearly ran into him as she stared, frozen in horror to see him retch!
Merric hadn't eaten much, but it certainly look like he'd consumed more than he did. And he felt his eyes hot with tears and his hands tried fervently to wipe them away. He stumbled backwards when he saw Attalia emerge from the gate. He just stared at her for a good long moment.
"I spoke the truth, Attie," he said, using her nickname. "What reason would I have to lie to you?"
Hearing his voice, her anger stilled, but only a little. She felt hot words at the base of her throat, but instead, breathed out the hot air.
"Merric.." she began, feeling her fists still clenching at her sides. "I.." and her voice wavered, thinking to her last question. "Why.. why don't we pretend this never happened.." and her voice came out softly. "No one should know I'm alive, and you can go home.. still thinking I am dead."
Maybe it was just a bad dream?
He swallowed hard and blinked at her, appearing old and haggard, as if ten years had just passed over him in that one moment with her. His chin wavered, as if more tears threatened to pour down from his face. He blinked at her, eyes red and sore.
"I-I don't know if I could do that," he breathed. "I don't know if I want to just forget about it. I haven't seen you in so long...I-I... I don't know what to do."
Attalia caught the look in his eyes, the waver in his voice and found herself beginning to cry even more. She should just walk away from him- yes.. she had to...
but as she tried, her movements were so rigid and slow, but if she didn't keep going, she knew she'd just collapse somewhere once again.
No, no.. she couldn't comfort him. Couldn't stay...
maybe he'd forget it.
She'd be in danger again...
But it was Merric...
Gods..
She cupped a hand over her lips to stifle her sob and tried to rush away even faster.
Mercuxio watched her try to get away and he ducked his head low until he found the strength to stand on his own. Righting himself, he stepped away from the gate and moved toward the horse he had tethered to a post across the road. He was safely tucked away from the rain, a great black beast that was spotted here and there with rain.
He approached the animal and untethered him, wrapping his arms around his neck for a moment before climbing on his back and slowly turning in the saddle, watching where Attie had gone.
She wished she could disappear.. like a ghost. But, like all humans, she had to take the long road to get home. She wasn't even smart enough to bring her horse, and she was a five hour walk from her home. Her brother would kill her, but..
She supposed, it in part, hd been worth it. But she needed to get away..
But Gods! Of all the things to happen on her first day out on her own, did she have to run into Merric!?
Mercuxio didn't waste any further time beating down the road, his horse splashing up small puddles where the hooves beat against the road. He ran so hard against the rain, he wasn't even watching where he was going. But he did open his eyes when he saw his horse suddenly skidded to a halt nearly running Attalia down.
SHe too, was almost too distracted to notice the horse until it was nearly upon her, but whirled around at the last moment and the last thing she saw was the sky.
The side of his horse had bashed into Attalia, knocking her over and when Mercuxio realized what had happened he gasped in horror. The horse reared back, nearly knocking him over. When he regained control of the beast, he dismounted and rushed over to her body. "Attalia! Attalia!" he said, reaching down toward her shoulders and giving her a light shake.
She was dizzy from the fall, the horse having startled her and rocking her world. She didn't know what was up and what was down,a nd by the time Merric had come to her side, she had almost forgotten his name. Peering up into his face, she began to see white spots before she fainted into his arms.
Well, she fainted quite unceremoniously in the mud since Mercuxio wasn't quite holding on to her. He did hoist her up however and pulled her up over his horse's saddle. He didn't quite remember all the houses along this road, but it was worth a chance, and some solace at least for the poor soul in his arms.
Attie had fainted, but the rain was coming down in thick sheets by now and a cold wind was stirring. Eventually, she was roused, and murmured as she pressed her face against his warmth before lifting her gaze. After a moment , her vision began to refocus and she realized she was in Merric's arms.
ANd a second later she was freaking out.
"MERRIC!" she shouted, jolting up withiin his arms and suddenly struggling, pushing to get away. "No! Let me go! You can't take me back there! Don't take me home! They all think I'm dead!"
He had a powerful body for a priest and when she began to protest, her slight body was hardly anything against it. He gripped her against him, at the risk of dropping her and her breaking her neck. "What are you talking about?" he growled. "I'm not taking you home. Clearly you fooled more than one person in the last few years."
Realizing her struggle was for not, she stopped, though at his words, she could not believe him and struck him suddenly as pained tears filled her eyes.
"FOOLED!?" her voice boomed, much like the threatening pound of thunder. "How dare you! You have no idea what I've been through you heartless man! I might as well have been dead!" ANd soon, hot tears were streaming down her cheeks.
"Perhaps it may have been for the best then," Mercuxio thought but did not say. Instead he let her cry and kept his own tears from being seen as his eyes were mostly hidden beneath the darkness of his hood. He rode hard down the path, his horse growing tired by the time it reached the bend.
He spotted a small building, two stories at least, with a run down sign saying "Red Golbet Inn." A clear attempt to spell Goblet, with little success. But the priest stopped at the small stable fitted just inside the gate and slid Attalia off with him, letting her feet drop to the ground. "Attalia," he began. "Here is a safe place for you to rest. And I'll give you want, and go away. And we never saw each other."
"What?" she said, staring back at him angrily before she jerked her hands out from his grip. She shook her head. "I'm not taking your money, Merric."
"I didn't off you money. I offered you safety and rest, and you would refuse me that out of spite." Merric grumbled and stepped away from her, back to his tired horse and looked at her with his red sore eyes. "You're not the only one who cried, Attie. You act as if your loss was the only grievance this world has ever known. My heart died when I thought you did. And here you are, reunited once again, by some cruelty of Ansgar, and you want nothing to do with me. I'll give you want you want, and leave you be. I just want you to know, you're not the only one who was hurt."
Standing there in the rain, she found tears pooling in her eyes. Tears of pain, tears of frustration and tears of sorrow. But she couldn't totally hate the man infront of her, even if she wanted to. When they had last parted, at least in person.. at least.. as lovers... it had not been on good terms-
The argument.. she recalled, because of her engagemet...
As if she could have helped it! But still.... she remembered saying such angered things and he-
He did not have to be so cold! Did he not understand she had no choice? NO matter how much she begged and pleaded with her father? (for Angsar knew she had!)
and then the letters...
she wanted to tell him so much...
and she had thought she had, but what had become of those letters?
Listening to what he said, she let more tears stream down her eyes.
"You could have fooled me, Merric." She said. "We haven't even talked in years. How could I even know you'd care to cry at my funeral when we were no longer part of each others lives after that day." ANd then as she thought over what he said at the cemetery, she peered up into his eyes.
"Who were you mourning for today?"
Mercuxio's eyes were burning with both rage and anguish and the sorrow he'd still had yet to come to terms with. Her presence summoned all manner of emotions that he had pushed down, away, and they were threatening to resurface. He carefully pulled down his hood and peered at her, surprised tears had not passed his eyes yet.
"I still kept you in my heart. Even if you weren't in my life," he breathed, low enough that she might even hear it. But at her next question he blinked at her. "I told you, an old friend. You wouldn't know him."
Attalia wasn't sure what she should be feeling when he told her that. Confused and angry, she continued to search for answers within his eyes. But at his last statement,s he pressed her lips flatly together, her anger only then, beginning to fade.
"You said.. he was like a father to you. He must have been of grave importance. I.. know you and your father had not been on the best of terms," she said soflty.
"We are not, and have never been," Merric answered finally. She didn't know that side of his life, what he truly was or what he truly did. "He was a teacher of mine," he admitted at last. "My mentor. I looked up to him and he treated me like a son. I respected him and now he's gone."
It was at this Attie actually smiled.
"I'm glad you had gotten a mentor. You had always been so bright." She had no idea, however, of his connection to the church. She only assumed he had craved for education, and perhaps, attended a school in Uthlyn. She could not imagine he was a champion of sorts, against mages...
part of the very same church, (perhaps not the same branch... however) that had done all of those horrid things t her.
Her comment was unexpected, for he expected something cold and bitter considering their meeting. A small ghost of a smile touched his lips and he nodded at her words. "I...always did enjoy learning," he smiled wider and gave her a nod. "He taught me well, and he will always be in my memory, and perhaps that is enough."
"I..." she began, uncertain on her words, but feeling the need to add. "I'm sorry for your loss." Which might sound strange coming from a woman who ought to be dead! Her eyes then searched his as they were both paused now upon the road, before an Inn.
"I know you're trying to help me Merric... but I... I have to go."
TO where? She couldn't tell him. She was a ghost, remember? But how could she explain herself? SHe should have been in he grave, not here, talking with a past lover,.. in the rain....
His head felt heavy with shame, but he could only nod at her words. "I-I understand," he said. "We cannot linger here much longer, but...perhaps...we could...have a parting meal. Together? The inn is right here. It's cold and wet and the roads are slippery. And someone else would be bound to run into you on the road that isn't me. Then we may part. And I never saw you."
At his words, her eyes wavered.
"I'm sorry, but I can't."
Even as faint as she was, she could not accept it. It was too risky as it were. "But please.. do me but one favor, Merric." She said, looking up into his eyes. "Please forget you ever saw me. No one can know I'm still alive."A nd as her eyes read his, she added in but a whisper, "Besides..w ho would believe it?" And a few hot tears slipped out from her eyes.
He nodded again. He knew it was to be done and it was a longshot at best, after all they'd been through together, and after all they'd been through apart. "I will," he nodded to her. "But...before I go." And he said nothing more as he suddenly surprised himself and stepped in close to her. He didn't ask her, didn't warn her, only did it. His powerful arms swept around her and lifted her clear off the ground, embracing her to him in a hug he hadn't given another in a long time, what felt like an eternity. "I'm sorry, Attie," he whispered and let her go at last. And moved back toward his horse.
Through the hug memories came crashing through her, even as she lost her breath. Her eyes were wide, and her tears were frozen, and it took her some time to melt back into reality as she turned towards him and reached for his hand.
"Merric..."
and then she stepped forward and kissed his lips, softly, sweetly before pulling away and looking into his eyes. "A kiss to remember me by." And she peered up at him as the rains fell between them, tears still streaming down her face.
Merric could feel the water dripping from her face onto his and he lost his breath a little at the sensation of her lips on his, a sensation he'd long since forgotten and was amazed at the feeling. He gasped at her, having been untouched in so long.
He wasn't sure he could let her go so easily, and he hated himself for his uncertainty. But instead he leaned forward and grabbed her face with his gloved hands and gave her a deeper kiss, more passionate than he could remember. "No," he whispered, pulling away at last. "That's what I want to remember." And then moved back toward his horse.
The kiss brought back so many feelings and emotions that once laid buried from long ago. A heat.. a fire, long since turned to ash, but reignited in the way his lips crashed unto hers, and the way he held onto her to deliver that final blow.
Goodbye..
Parting had never been such sweet sorrow, but there she was, standing in the rain, watching him move to leave her. She didn't stop him, merely stared at him with a numbness which could not be mistaken with the cool stinging of the rain. No.. this was something deeper stirring, memories becoming unlocked- and like the slow cranking of a music box, she felt something being turned within. The song that wanted to burst out, she held in reserve, her eyes flashing to his questionably, asking more than her lips ever could.
And also, speaking her curiosity and uncertainties on this goodbye.
Though she did not reach for him when she could, she merely stared into his face and held a breath-
and waited for it to be his time to make his leave.
That moment hung in the balance and it would stay burned in his memory for the longest time. He just breathed as he took his horse and pulled it from the stables. The animal chuffed and took his weight as he climbed onto the saddle and peered back at her, bounding off down the road.
She watched him go, and hated herself for it. So many memories brought back, only to be torn away because she was 'dead'. As his horse continued down the road, nearly disappearing, she found her eyes clouding with tears and simply standing there, watching him until he had gone from her sight.
Now, the long trek home would begin- another five hour walk that felt like ten.
OOC: This thread will continue at this event (http://www.spiritsoftheearth.net/smf/index.php?topic=15587.msg156752#msg156752).