Oh, those heroin eyes
Title: The Greatest Tragedy
Author: That'sMyFiasco
Fandom: Twilight, by Stephenie Meyer
Written For: My claim at twilightficmix
Character/Pairing/Group: General Series- this oneshot is based around Edward and his mother.
Setting/Spoilers: Set in 1918, Chicago.
Rating: General
WIP: [2/11]
Word Count: 1040
Summary: "The greatest tragedy is natural death..." A last peaceful scene with Edward and his mother, before the end.
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight; equivocally, I do not own Anberlin
Author's Note: Love to you if you recognize the book mentioned. Cross-posted to fanfiction.net, here.
When I awoke there was nothing real in this life
But dreams are so intoxicating, (intoxicating)
When you're doing this alone
Once a skeptic, now the critic
And you think that you finally found a place of your own.
Amongst the cold and timid souls
Where only failure knows your name
Oh oh oh you cry
Tell me something more than what you tried
The greatest tragedy is not your death
But a life without reason, that your life had no purpose
Elizabeth sat by the fire, a slim, leather-bound novel in her hands. It was unseasonably cool, even for autumn, and her chair was drawn close to the blaze. Twilight had just fallen, but the house was quiet- her husband was still at the office. Several of the law firm's partners had already fallen to the influenza epidemic, and he was forced to work constantly, preparing and executing the wills of the dead and dying. She couldn't help but worry about him, running himself thin and spending so much time around the sick. He merely smiled at her concerns, however, kissing her on the cheek and promising that all would be well- after all, someone needed to do it.
Upstairs, she could hear her son moving about, opening and closing drawers and cupboards in a quest for some trivial shirt or book. Elizabeth smiled indulgently, her thoughts straying from the book in front of her. It was a mother's place to worry- and day by day, that worry grew. It was less than a year until his eighteenth birthday, now- less than a year until he would be pulled into a world of hurt and pain by the draft.
As if beckoned below by her thoughts of him, Edward stepped quickly down the stairs, walking into the front sitting room with a quick step. His reddish hair was a tangle of unruly curls, fey green eyes sparkling from a face that still held boyish charm despite its seventeen years.
Smiling at his mother, he walked over to her chair, tugging on the lapels of his jacket. “Mother, I can't get this tie straight. Tie it for me, please?” Elizabeth smiled, and motioned him to stand in front of the fire, chuckling quietly under her breath.
“You'll have to kneel for me- you've grown so tall, I barely recognize you anymore.” He gave her one of his quick smiled, moving to his knees on the carpet before her.
The firelight cast strange, warm shadows on his face, and Elizabeth stared, searching desperately for the face of her little boy in this- that of a confident young man. He watched her in turn, the expression on his face turning from absolute trust to one of curiosity. “Mother?” he said warily, smiling up at her when the sad look left her eyes. She placed two fingers under his chin, tilting up his face to expose his white throat.
Elizabeth knotted the black silk deftly, fingers slipping into a familiar dance. Edward was watching her, and as she worked she smiled down at him. “So? Where do you have plans tonight that obligate such a fine manner of dress?”
He rolled his eyes slightly, but answered quickly. “I received an invitation from Captain Adams to join him at the club for coffee. Joseph Morrison and Daniel Goldworth are going to be attending, too.” His voice was eager, but Edward studied his mother carefully, waiting for some sign of disapproval.
Her eyes stayed fixed on his collar, patting the finished knot once before motioning to Edward that he might stand. He got to his feet in one swift motion, though he didn't move from his place in front of her. “You'd like me not to go, wouldn't you.” It wasn't a question, and they both knew it. Elizabeth sighed and looked up at her son, silhouetted by the glow of the firelight.
“I just don't think that you need to be worrying about military concerns.” It was his turn to smile indulgently, and Edward looked down at his mother, his expression gentle.
“And I think that there is no reason whatsoever for you to worry about me. I'll be fine- I can take care of myself. Besides, the country needs me. There are thousands of men fighting every day- fighting for what's right.”
Still unconvinced, Elizabeth looked down, toying with the leather-bound volume still lying on her knee. “Perhaps that's true- it doesn't mean I'll cease caring about what happens to you. I don't- I don't think I could bear losing you.”
Edward chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to her silky cheek. “Don't be so melodramatic, Mother.” Straightening, he laughed again upon noticing the worn book in her hands. “Are you really reading that book again? I should think you'd have half the text memorized by now, as many times as you've read it.” She merely laughed at her son, holding the beloved book close.
“If you spent less time with your precious instrument, perhaps you'd better understand the joys of literature.” Her son grinned, smile crooked and lighthearted.
“The joys of literature, or the thrill of scandal? Mr. Wilde wasn't exactly known for the most upstanding of morals, as I'm sure you're aware.”
Elizabeth flushed, looking at her son with a scolding eye. “Just because a book is misunderstood doesn't mean it's of lesser quality. This is a story of beauty, of sin, of punishment. There is so much to be found in such a story.”
His face was somber now, green eyes deep and cool. “A story of sin without repentance? Without grace? And you enjoy such a thing?” She nodded.
“After all, you don't know that he was unforgiven. He may have yet received God's grace.” Edward studied her carefully, his eyes capturing everything about her from the twist of her white hands to the fathoms in her eyes.
Finally, he let out a deep breath, smiling slightly. “You're too much of an optimist, Mother.” He walked out towards the door, turning one last time towards her. She noted the high colour in his cheeks, but said nothing- he was only a boy, after all, and it was perhaps nothing. The door made a loud click behind him when it swung shut, and she laughed at herself for being startled.
Turning away from the door and back to the fireplace, Elizabeth drew her skirts closer around her, considering the book in her hands for a long moment. Suddenly displeased with the story it contained, she flung it to rest on a nearby table, turning her eyes away. A draft blew through the room, and she shivered, the chill tripping down her spine.