Kain/Rydia- "Rituals"
Title: Rituals
Claim: Kain/Rydia
Themes: #100 glory, and #91 morning
Characters/Pairings: Rosa
Warnings: Angst, death
Summary: She always had a ritual.
They had a ritual, like all things in life, and it was the same every day. He would wake early and stretch, flexing his muscles out on the mist-covered dunes around them. She would roll over and pat his pillow, and, upon finding him gone, get up and begin breakfast. When he came back in, they would eat together, and then he would dress for training at the castle.
When he left, she would kiss him on the cheek.
-------
Then the war came.
The ritual changed then, for he could no longer return each night. He would leave for days, weeks at a time, sent to Troia to defend the trees and caves, and to Agart to defend the mines. He was tired and drawn when he was sent home for a night or two, lines around his eyes. She would kiss his cheek the same way, brushing hair from his face.
And then he would leave again, to return in some indefinite time, and the house felt empty.
-------
He did not come back.
In truth, few of the soldiers did, the regiments decimated by the Lunarian army. She sat in front of the door for long hours, staring at the horizon, thinking perhaps if she stayed there long enough, she would see his figure moving over the sloping hills. Perhaps, if she willed it enough, he would return to her.
The war finally ended.
-------
It was strange, the day they told her. It was almost as if it were a bland announcement, an unsympathetic brief of news, and yet to her, it was her life. It was a swift fist in the gut and a scream of sound against her ears. It was her home, her soul, and her ritual they were tearing apart, and they sounded so detached from it.
The Dragoons were hit the worst, they said. They took the front lines and the brunt of the spells.
You will be compensated, they told her. A hero's burial for him.
Legions will remember his name, others claimed. History will remember, you will see.
Are you not proud? some asked. He was a great warrior. A Dragoon of the highest honor.
They said many things to her, and she heard only one, a word whispered in every corner of the nation that reverberated through the walls- widow.
--------
What did it mean for her?
Come and live in the castle, Rosa pleaded. Come and live close to me.
She could not give up the mist-covered hills in the morning, or the cool breeze through the valley of autumn. She could not give up the memories that saturated every board of their home.
You should not be alone, Rosa said.
Her ritual was in tatters.
--------
It took a long time to make a new one.
She would rise early and pat the pillow next to her, and, upon finding it empty, would welcome the crushing weight of reality back upon her shoulders. She would make breakfast and eat, silent, chewing each piece thoroughly. Then she cleaned up and left, going to the far side of the valley where the slab of marble sat.
She read the inscription and let her fingers run over the engraving, and then she kissed it, only once.
Are you not proud? they had asked. She did not know. She did not feel pride, only grief.
--------
Life in the valley went on as it always had, as it always would.
It reminded her of what she had lost.
It reminded her of how things must change, and how everything, eventually, must end.
Claim: Kain/Rydia
Themes: #100 glory, and #91 morning
Characters/Pairings: Rosa
Warnings: Angst, death
Summary: She always had a ritual.
They had a ritual, like all things in life, and it was the same every day. He would wake early and stretch, flexing his muscles out on the mist-covered dunes around them. She would roll over and pat his pillow, and, upon finding him gone, get up and begin breakfast. When he came back in, they would eat together, and then he would dress for training at the castle.
When he left, she would kiss him on the cheek.
-------
Then the war came.
The ritual changed then, for he could no longer return each night. He would leave for days, weeks at a time, sent to Troia to defend the trees and caves, and to Agart to defend the mines. He was tired and drawn when he was sent home for a night or two, lines around his eyes. She would kiss his cheek the same way, brushing hair from his face.
And then he would leave again, to return in some indefinite time, and the house felt empty.
-------
He did not come back.
In truth, few of the soldiers did, the regiments decimated by the Lunarian army. She sat in front of the door for long hours, staring at the horizon, thinking perhaps if she stayed there long enough, she would see his figure moving over the sloping hills. Perhaps, if she willed it enough, he would return to her.
The war finally ended.
-------
It was strange, the day they told her. It was almost as if it were a bland announcement, an unsympathetic brief of news, and yet to her, it was her life. It was a swift fist in the gut and a scream of sound against her ears. It was her home, her soul, and her ritual they were tearing apart, and they sounded so detached from it.
The Dragoons were hit the worst, they said. They took the front lines and the brunt of the spells.
You will be compensated, they told her. A hero's burial for him.
Legions will remember his name, others claimed. History will remember, you will see.
Are you not proud? some asked. He was a great warrior. A Dragoon of the highest honor.
They said many things to her, and she heard only one, a word whispered in every corner of the nation that reverberated through the walls- widow.
--------
What did it mean for her?
Come and live in the castle, Rosa pleaded. Come and live close to me.
She could not give up the mist-covered hills in the morning, or the cool breeze through the valley of autumn. She could not give up the memories that saturated every board of their home.
You should not be alone, Rosa said.
Her ritual was in tatters.
--------
It took a long time to make a new one.
She would rise early and pat the pillow next to her, and, upon finding it empty, would welcome the crushing weight of reality back upon her shoulders. She would make breakfast and eat, silent, chewing each piece thoroughly. Then she cleaned up and left, going to the far side of the valley where the slab of marble sat.
She read the inscription and let her fingers run over the engraving, and then she kissed it, only once.
Are you not proud? they had asked. She did not know. She did not feel pride, only grief.
--------
Life in the valley went on as it always had, as it always would.
It reminded her of what she had lost.
It reminded her of how things must change, and how everything, eventually, must end.