Post by Yva on May 22, 2008 16:40:20 GMT -5
She listened to him breathe. The birds sang their morning songs, heralding another beautiful Ashenvale day, but it was the even keel of Aleros drawing air into his lungs that she found the most melodic.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
She turned her head towards the window. Her eye was caught by the picture of her children on the bedside table, their smiling faces framed by a square of hammered bronze. Khal held his sister cradled against his bare chest. His kilt was brown leather, much like his father's. Skyborne was kicking and laughing, streams of her turquoise hair blowing in the wind. A single strand of it was caught in the forest green band Khallar wore to shield his blind eyes.
They were happy. The two of them were perpetually happy people.
Seylon smiled.
Her kids were good folks – they took care of each other and the rest of the world. She was proud of the adults they'd become. She hadn't been the best mother, but she'd done the best she could, and that was all she could have hoped for. Of course, Khal always said she was the greatest mother in the world, but Sky would just smile and shrug when he said it. Sey understood. Though old wounds healed, they left scars, and Sky still wore hers. Xia was Skyborne's true mother, and she would never forget that, nor would she let Seylon forget that. At times, it didn't seem fair, but Sey had to be the bigger person. Bygones had to be bygones. It was a lesson she'd taught her kids, and it was a creed she'd tried to live her life by.
She swung her long legs over the bed, careful not to disturb the mattress. Aleros was a light sleeper. Her fingers loosed the pendant around her neck – the half moon etched into soft wood. It was the only jewelry she'd ever worn. Her first husband had given it to her on the day of their wedding. He wore the twin piece, the sun. When he'd died, Sey had kept the necklaces locked away until she'd met and eventually fallen in love with her true mate. It seemed so long ago that she'd pledged her heart to Aleros on the steps of a Stormwind bar. She'd been so stupid when she'd bumbled her love and half crammed the necklace at him, begging him to keep it safe.
That was ages ago, Old Girl. Time keeps on a-tickin'.
She glanced over her shoulder, at Aleros's profile. He looked the same as he had all those years ago. She knew why, of course. He'd be unchanging until the day he died.
If he died.
She was almost glad she wouldn't be here to see his end. She had to die, yes, but she didn't have to do it because the love of her life had left her. She didn't have to die sad. The burden was going to be his, but she knew their children would help him through it, and that he – a druid among druids – would understand the flow and ebb of life better than anyone. Elune giveth and taketh away, and the laws of nature had to be kept.
He'd grieve, but he'd understand. He always understood.
Her eyes started to sting as she laid the necklace down on her pillow. She wasn't good with goodbyes, and this was painful. She'd put two short letters in envelopes in the bedstand drawer for her children. They'd be found eventually, and Khallar and Skyborne would know that she loved them. Hell, everyone already knew because she said it as often as she could. Life was too damned short to keep the important things to yourself. Aleros, though, he'd see the necklace and he'd know. There were no words to say to him, because everything seemed cheap and contrived, and what they'd shared was bigger than that. They'd laughed, and made love, and enjoyed life every single day they spent together. He had those memories as a farewell.
It was an apt parting.
She slipped through the house, grabbing a pre-packed bag and a freshly rolled pack of cigarettes. Her canteen of whiskey was filled, and she slid it into her belt.
No one thought anything of her walk through town. Some people shouted hellos, waving to the green haired woman with the smiling eyes. Faint lines covered her face now, but she wore her years well. Only her hands belied her age, with their dark spots and cracked fingernails. She made sure she acknowledged everyone who acknowledged her, shouting and hefting her sword in the air with an elaborate flourish. She jingled her money at the flightmaster and then she was off, to Winterspring, to the cold that would make her eyelashes freeze together and make the centuries old wound in her leg feel as fresh as the day she'd gotten it.
When her feet touched the ground at mid-day, she rushed to the inn, desperate for one last bit of warmth before she changed into her armor. The goblins wouldn't let her use a room for just an hour, so she'd paid them for a week, figuring she had nothing better to do with the money. Let them feed their families on her copper. It was only going to rot anyway.
The last latches of her armor snapped into place, and she headed for the door, keeping her eyes straight ahead. They offered her a cat for rent, to ride across the snowy terrain, but she'd declined, shoving a cigarette into her mouth. She'd walk, and she'd be glad to do it. There were a dozen cigarettes that had to be smoked before she reached the cave, and that would take some time. She wasn't so good at choking the smoke down anymore.
Two hours later, she was staring at the cave, and she could see the draconids inside, patrolling around, keeping their small patch of land safe. She hunkered down on a hillcrest, watching the smoke of the cigarette and the puffs of her breath swirl together in a gray haze in front of her face. There was one last good haul left, and she sucked it down, swallowing the ensuing coughing fit. No way was she going to let the last cigarette end with her spitting something up – that lacked poetry.
“Poetry my ass,” she grumped, hauling herself to standing. As soon as she put weight on her scarred leg, white pain shot through her calf. It took a lot of ragged breathing to keep her balance, but she managed, limping down the hillside, all the while muttering curses that could have curdled milk.
She thought about putting her helmet on, but that seemed ridiculous. She tossed it to the side, letting her green hair fly free. Her sword whistled as she pulled it from its sheath. She was a hardened warrior, she knew her craft better than most. She might be old, and her body might riddled with arthritis and all other sorts of pain-in-the-ass maladies, but she was still damned good, and she knew it.
The blue scale of a draconid flashed from the corner of her eye, and she bellowed, bringing her sword down in front of her. She turned her body into the creature, letting it strike her armor, and then she lunged for its chest, for the fleshy part hidden near its front legs, where the scales weren't so thick. There was a sickening wet noise and then the splash of red on snow as she took the creature's life, watching it die on the hillside.
“S'good. S'right here,” she said, and she knew it was. This was where they'd found Khallar's broken body so many hundreds of years ago. This was the exact location where her life had changed from a simple one of love and happiness to a life of struggling with identity and hardship. Everything had been so bleak then – her life had become one unlivable blur. She'd taken to alcohol, warring, drugs, and anything else that could numb her own pain.
She'd lost her daughter because of it.
“Goddess damned dragons!”
Her thoughts drifted again to Aleros, to how he'd changed her life for the better, and how they'd made up for the years she'd wasted in her grief, and she smiled as she charged for the next dragon, cackling wildly as she cut its head clean from its body. She cut a bloody path through the patrollers, killing everything that moved. A young orc was working his way through the cave as well, and she winked at him as she past, running as best she could towards the back of the den.
Finally, exhausted and covered in dragon blood, she found what she was looking for.
The creature was as big as a mountain. Its tail was wrapped around a cluster of pale, baby blue eggs. As Seylon approached, breathing heavily and grunting with every step, it raised its massive head. Impassive reptilian eyes examined the stranger standing before it, its nostrils flaring as it caught scent of the kinsblood smeared all over her armor.
“Fuck you too!” she shouted, reaching for the canteen on her belt. She unscrewed the cap and tossed the whiskey back, swallowing every bit of the vile liquid. It hit fast, and it hit hard. She blinked heavily, swaying upon her feet as molten fire whistled through her veins.
The dragon lumbered to standing, abandoning its unhatched brood with a screech.
“I ain't impressed, Sugar,” Seylon said, dancing to the side. The wings on its back started to flap and she watched it take flight, the monster careening around the top of the cave, making an ear-splitting shrieking noise with every pass.
She didn't think much of it, until she heard the feet.
They showed up in droves, dozens upon dozens of draconids, beating a path to their mother with all the haste their short, scaly legs would allow. When they finally stopped coming, forming a veritable wall of dragon flesh behind her, Seylon started to laugh.
“Y'ain't brave, are ya?” she said to the behemoth landing on the ground before her. “Least I never threw my kids at my enemies.”
The dragon just hissed. Its children hissed in turn.
And as she rushed at the brood mother, swinging her sword with all the skill of a master weaponsmith, Seylon Jh'Talith thanked Elune for the the gift of life, for a wonderful familly and wonderful friends, and most especially for the gift of a good death.
Because it was, in the end, a very good death.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
She turned her head towards the window. Her eye was caught by the picture of her children on the bedside table, their smiling faces framed by a square of hammered bronze. Khal held his sister cradled against his bare chest. His kilt was brown leather, much like his father's. Skyborne was kicking and laughing, streams of her turquoise hair blowing in the wind. A single strand of it was caught in the forest green band Khallar wore to shield his blind eyes.
They were happy. The two of them were perpetually happy people.
Seylon smiled.
Her kids were good folks – they took care of each other and the rest of the world. She was proud of the adults they'd become. She hadn't been the best mother, but she'd done the best she could, and that was all she could have hoped for. Of course, Khal always said she was the greatest mother in the world, but Sky would just smile and shrug when he said it. Sey understood. Though old wounds healed, they left scars, and Sky still wore hers. Xia was Skyborne's true mother, and she would never forget that, nor would she let Seylon forget that. At times, it didn't seem fair, but Sey had to be the bigger person. Bygones had to be bygones. It was a lesson she'd taught her kids, and it was a creed she'd tried to live her life by.
She swung her long legs over the bed, careful not to disturb the mattress. Aleros was a light sleeper. Her fingers loosed the pendant around her neck – the half moon etched into soft wood. It was the only jewelry she'd ever worn. Her first husband had given it to her on the day of their wedding. He wore the twin piece, the sun. When he'd died, Sey had kept the necklaces locked away until she'd met and eventually fallen in love with her true mate. It seemed so long ago that she'd pledged her heart to Aleros on the steps of a Stormwind bar. She'd been so stupid when she'd bumbled her love and half crammed the necklace at him, begging him to keep it safe.
That was ages ago, Old Girl. Time keeps on a-tickin'.
She glanced over her shoulder, at Aleros's profile. He looked the same as he had all those years ago. She knew why, of course. He'd be unchanging until the day he died.
If he died.
She was almost glad she wouldn't be here to see his end. She had to die, yes, but she didn't have to do it because the love of her life had left her. She didn't have to die sad. The burden was going to be his, but she knew their children would help him through it, and that he – a druid among druids – would understand the flow and ebb of life better than anyone. Elune giveth and taketh away, and the laws of nature had to be kept.
He'd grieve, but he'd understand. He always understood.
Her eyes started to sting as she laid the necklace down on her pillow. She wasn't good with goodbyes, and this was painful. She'd put two short letters in envelopes in the bedstand drawer for her children. They'd be found eventually, and Khallar and Skyborne would know that she loved them. Hell, everyone already knew because she said it as often as she could. Life was too damned short to keep the important things to yourself. Aleros, though, he'd see the necklace and he'd know. There were no words to say to him, because everything seemed cheap and contrived, and what they'd shared was bigger than that. They'd laughed, and made love, and enjoyed life every single day they spent together. He had those memories as a farewell.
It was an apt parting.
She slipped through the house, grabbing a pre-packed bag and a freshly rolled pack of cigarettes. Her canteen of whiskey was filled, and she slid it into her belt.
No one thought anything of her walk through town. Some people shouted hellos, waving to the green haired woman with the smiling eyes. Faint lines covered her face now, but she wore her years well. Only her hands belied her age, with their dark spots and cracked fingernails. She made sure she acknowledged everyone who acknowledged her, shouting and hefting her sword in the air with an elaborate flourish. She jingled her money at the flightmaster and then she was off, to Winterspring, to the cold that would make her eyelashes freeze together and make the centuries old wound in her leg feel as fresh as the day she'd gotten it.
When her feet touched the ground at mid-day, she rushed to the inn, desperate for one last bit of warmth before she changed into her armor. The goblins wouldn't let her use a room for just an hour, so she'd paid them for a week, figuring she had nothing better to do with the money. Let them feed their families on her copper. It was only going to rot anyway.
The last latches of her armor snapped into place, and she headed for the door, keeping her eyes straight ahead. They offered her a cat for rent, to ride across the snowy terrain, but she'd declined, shoving a cigarette into her mouth. She'd walk, and she'd be glad to do it. There were a dozen cigarettes that had to be smoked before she reached the cave, and that would take some time. She wasn't so good at choking the smoke down anymore.
Two hours later, she was staring at the cave, and she could see the draconids inside, patrolling around, keeping their small patch of land safe. She hunkered down on a hillcrest, watching the smoke of the cigarette and the puffs of her breath swirl together in a gray haze in front of her face. There was one last good haul left, and she sucked it down, swallowing the ensuing coughing fit. No way was she going to let the last cigarette end with her spitting something up – that lacked poetry.
“Poetry my ass,” she grumped, hauling herself to standing. As soon as she put weight on her scarred leg, white pain shot through her calf. It took a lot of ragged breathing to keep her balance, but she managed, limping down the hillside, all the while muttering curses that could have curdled milk.
She thought about putting her helmet on, but that seemed ridiculous. She tossed it to the side, letting her green hair fly free. Her sword whistled as she pulled it from its sheath. She was a hardened warrior, she knew her craft better than most. She might be old, and her body might riddled with arthritis and all other sorts of pain-in-the-ass maladies, but she was still damned good, and she knew it.
The blue scale of a draconid flashed from the corner of her eye, and she bellowed, bringing her sword down in front of her. She turned her body into the creature, letting it strike her armor, and then she lunged for its chest, for the fleshy part hidden near its front legs, where the scales weren't so thick. There was a sickening wet noise and then the splash of red on snow as she took the creature's life, watching it die on the hillside.
“S'good. S'right here,” she said, and she knew it was. This was where they'd found Khallar's broken body so many hundreds of years ago. This was the exact location where her life had changed from a simple one of love and happiness to a life of struggling with identity and hardship. Everything had been so bleak then – her life had become one unlivable blur. She'd taken to alcohol, warring, drugs, and anything else that could numb her own pain.
She'd lost her daughter because of it.
“Goddess damned dragons!”
Her thoughts drifted again to Aleros, to how he'd changed her life for the better, and how they'd made up for the years she'd wasted in her grief, and she smiled as she charged for the next dragon, cackling wildly as she cut its head clean from its body. She cut a bloody path through the patrollers, killing everything that moved. A young orc was working his way through the cave as well, and she winked at him as she past, running as best she could towards the back of the den.
Finally, exhausted and covered in dragon blood, she found what she was looking for.
The creature was as big as a mountain. Its tail was wrapped around a cluster of pale, baby blue eggs. As Seylon approached, breathing heavily and grunting with every step, it raised its massive head. Impassive reptilian eyes examined the stranger standing before it, its nostrils flaring as it caught scent of the kinsblood smeared all over her armor.
“Fuck you too!” she shouted, reaching for the canteen on her belt. She unscrewed the cap and tossed the whiskey back, swallowing every bit of the vile liquid. It hit fast, and it hit hard. She blinked heavily, swaying upon her feet as molten fire whistled through her veins.
The dragon lumbered to standing, abandoning its unhatched brood with a screech.
“I ain't impressed, Sugar,” Seylon said, dancing to the side. The wings on its back started to flap and she watched it take flight, the monster careening around the top of the cave, making an ear-splitting shrieking noise with every pass.
She didn't think much of it, until she heard the feet.
They showed up in droves, dozens upon dozens of draconids, beating a path to their mother with all the haste their short, scaly legs would allow. When they finally stopped coming, forming a veritable wall of dragon flesh behind her, Seylon started to laugh.
“Y'ain't brave, are ya?” she said to the behemoth landing on the ground before her. “Least I never threw my kids at my enemies.”
The dragon just hissed. Its children hissed in turn.
And as she rushed at the brood mother, swinging her sword with all the skill of a master weaponsmith, Seylon Jh'Talith thanked Elune for the the gift of life, for a wonderful familly and wonderful friends, and most especially for the gift of a good death.
Because it was, in the end, a very good death.