I Don't Regret It
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Major Character Death
Summary:Sabriel and Touchstone wonder if they'll ever regret getting married.
They sat at the edge of the cliff near the Abhorsen’s house, watching the light recede. She leaned her head on his shoulder and he pressed his face into her hair.
She raised her head to kiss him and as they broke away he was struck by the notion that he should ask now.
“Marry me.” He blurted.
Her mouth parted in a small ‘o’ of surprise.
I said it. Damn! What possessed me to say it like that? I meant for it to be more romantic. I’ve been thinking about how to say it for weeks! That was so blunt. Charter, I’m an idiot. He pressed on.
“I love you more than I understand. I want to spend the rest of my life, however long or short it may be, with you, loving you.” He said sincerely. He scanned her face, trying to read her reaction.
For a second she said nothing, and then she closed her eyes and shook her head, laughing, “You beat me to it.” She confessed.
“I - You - Beat you to? - You were going to ask me?” He blustered.
“Well I didn’t know if you were going to… and I wanted…” she said, colour rising to her pale cheeks. She shook her head as if to sort out the words she was trying to say, “It doesn’t matter. The point is, yes.” She answered confidently.
“Yes?” He asked dreamily, a smile starting to brighten his face.
She laughed again and kissed him. “Yes.” She confirmed “I love you too and want to spent the rest of my life, long or short, with you.”
He brought his arms around her and kissed her full on the mouth, pulling her tight to him. She responded in kind, twining her fingers into his curls.
He broke away, grinning like an idiot. “We’re going to be married!”
For a moment Sabriel was full of hope and joy at the prospect of a long future with the man she so deeply loved and who so deeply loved her. She couldn’t find the words to tell him, but she hoped he could read that in her eyes as she beamed back at him. Then the problems they would face, the problems she’s sure he’s considered too came rushing back to her and her face clouded over.
"I’m going to be gone frequently. You'll have to wait for me. Often, probably. " She said, jaw clenching in frustration.
"Well if it’s the choice between waiting for you frequently during our life or waiting for you all of my life, I feel the choice is quite simple." He said softly, bringing his hand up to trace her jaw.
She forced herself to relax and take a deep breath.
“Besides, you forget that my job will also be quite time consuming.” He continued, “I may be here more often, but I will likely be constantly overwhelmed by work.”
“We’d also be resting both bloodlines on one marriage. We’d have to have an heir to each line. And probably only the two because Charter knows that would be dangerous enough.” She ruminated.
“Not to mention time consuming.” He added, brow furrowing.
“Speaking of which, how will I have time to be Queen when I’m busy running around being the Abhorsen?” She wondered, running a hand anxiously down her face.
“I’ll help… somehow. We’ll figure it out.” He insisted feebly.
“I don’t know if this is this going to work. You’ll regret it.” She said, shaking her head and looking away.
“You are the King and I am the Abhorsen. Whether we want these paths or not, our feet are firmly set on them and we cannot do something -”
“- that would be bad for the people.” He finished for her.
“Yes.” She concurred.
“So you don’t want to marry me?” He questioned bluntly.
Her eyes snapped back to him. “What? Of course I do! I just told you that! That’s not the point!” She protested.
“I think that’s entirely the point.” He replied. “People will grumble and raise many good points, mostly the ones you’ve raised, the ones I’ve raised in my mind almost every night. But all of that won’t matter because the point is that I won’t regret it. I will be frustrated by your frequent absences I am sure. I will miss you and hate the path you must walk, but I’m in love with you. I will always love you and I will never regret choosing to be with you. Will you regret choosing to be with me?”
She studied his face for a moment before replying confidently, though seeming slightly surprised by her own answer, “No. No I won’t.”
“Well that’s that then. We’re getting married.” He said softly, leaning his forehead against hers.
She closed her eyes and smiled again as she let their decision sink in.
The problems remained but they didn’t seem as threatening now. “We’re getting married.” She agreed.
… ⌘ …
She climbed out of the paperwing onto the roof where it felt like she’s stood yesterday watching Sanar and Ryelle’s vision of Kerrigor’s sarcophagus. But this was quite a different day. That journey had been her first official mission as the Abhorsen, uncertain and untried though she was. This trip had been her first summons, her first letter from a citizen asking her for help. She was still scared, but she was not the lost girl she had been such a short time ago.
She stared over the kingdom newly restored to Touchstone. It was her kingdom too, she reminded herself. That was still hard to wrap her head around. In the early morning light it looked so peaceful, far from the headache it really was.
As they had predicted, people had protested when she and Touchstone had announced that they intended to marry. Yet they worked through it, handling the objections with as much calm and grace as they could muster until she had to leave on her Abhorsen duties. They wrote, of course, almost every day, and they had planned what they would say to each concern they could think of, but Touchstone had had to handle the worst of the fallout by himself.
Touchstone’s letters had told her of the complaints, the protests the nobles and others made at their engagement. It seemed to reinforce their budding idea that these children were too foolish, their plans too unrealistic to take on something so great as a kingdom in grave disorder. Touchstone steadily rebuffed their insults and lack of trust, insisting that they would resolve the problems put to them and stating firmly that he would absolutely not marry someone he did not love simply because it would be convenient.
She had made Touchstone promise that he would not leave anything out, that he would never try to shield her. She tried to help, however hard it was from so far away, tired from the seeming never-ending petty necromancers, free magic creatures and, of course, the Dead that she did daily battle with.
As she stood pondering how tired she was of all of the stupid political drama, she felt strong arms wind around her, carefully avoiding the bells, and soft lips kiss her ear.
“I missed you. I love you. I don’t regret it.” He said softly. He had taken to saying that, minus the first statement, whenever their day had been especially frustrating.
She leaned back into his embrace. She still felt the weariness and the frustration, but it seemed less in Touchstone’s arms.
“I love you and missed you too. That was the longest two months of my life.” She sighed, closing her eyes.
Through her tiredness and relief at being home (home? When exactly had Belisaere become home?) she remembered what she’d wanted to tell him. What she’d realized a few weeks after she’d left but hadn’t wanted to reveal to him in a letter.
“I have something to tell you.” She said, turning to face him but not leaving his arms.
“What?” He asked, concern hardening his face.
"Nobody will be able to complain about resting two bloodlines on a marriage anymore, or at least for a while.” She answered, her eyes twinkling at him.
“Wha-” He started, but then his eyes widened as the meaning of her words dawned on him.
He was at a loss for words, his mind reeling at the shock of her revelation.
Still without speaking he lightly rested his hand over her abdomen, which was already beginning to curve out.
He let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in a sharp laugh.
“We’re going to be parents?” He managed.
“Yes.” She confirmed.
He threw his arms around her and spun her, kissing her lips, her cheek, her neck, and laughing. She held him and smiled at his joy, warmth filling her.
Sabriel raised her hand to his face, running her fingers over his closely cropped beard. “I love you. And I don’t regret it.”
… ⌘ …
“You’ve never even been to see any of their games or plays. You could at least try to make it for the midwinter celebration.” He yelled.
“I’m sorry I can’t always make it! I’m sorry I have to leave to defend your kingdom.” She hissed, glaring at him.
“My kingdom? You seem to forget that the problems of our kingdom are not my doing. You always use the same excuse. You don’t even try to make time for anything other than your duties anymore.” He hurled the accusation across the room at her.
She took a step back as though he’d slapped her.
“You know that’s not true.” She said softly. “Besides, I could go to Highbridge on the way there and I can deal with any other problem on the way back from Ancelstierre.” She tried to compromise, though her words were clipped and her voice was rising again.
“We can’t do that, because you’ll be gone before you could even get there in the first place!” He roared, gesturing angrily.
“I’m done with this argument!” She strode heatedly to the door but stopped and turned before opening it.
“You know what? Maybe if you worked with me instead of yelling at me we could work it out, but that never seems to be an option for you!” she snapped back at him.
He turned away; gripping the back of a chair so hard it almost broke. The silence was heavy, both of them furious beyond words.
She looked out the window, staring at the bright blue sky and the sun reflecting on the thick snow that lay over the great city like a blanket.
“I don’t regret it.” He said quietly.
“What?” She asked tiredly, her anger seeming to seep away with the word. She was still frustrated, but so weary of this battle that they’d fought a hundred times.
He walked over and pushed her back to the door, his hands gripping her arms almost painfully tightly. “I don’t regret it.” He repeated, his sharp, slate grey eyes holding her dark brown ones.
She crushed her mouth against his, anger returning to her, but shifting somehow so that it was almost something else. He released her and braced himself against the wall, hands on either side of her head as she pulled his hips towards her. “I am so angry at you. I hate your duty to the kingdom and I hate the fucking idiots who take you away from us.” He growled.
He kissed her fiercely, straying from her mouth to leave what she was sure would end up as bruises on her neck.
He sighed angrily and leaned his head on the wall beside hers as she tilted her head back, breathing heavily. “But Shiners know I love you, and I’ll help you however I can. I know how hard you try and how hard it is to walk away from them.”
“Thank you.” She murmured. “That’s all I wanted to hear, to know. I love you too.”
He looked down at the red spots he’d left on her neck and ran his hands over her arms, physically apologizing for his roughness, for his anger. “I’m so sorry -” he started.
“It’s fine. I’m alright.” She assured him. “And Touchstone?” she said, tilting his head up so that his eyes met hers.
“Yes?” He asked softly, his eyes still guilty.
“I don’t regret it either.”
… ⌘ …
Sabriel and Lirael chatted amiably as they unpacked their bags from the Paperwing.
“I’m so glad that we could be back in time for the festival. I’ve heard about it from the travels that visited The Glacier, but I’ve never been.” Lirael commented.
“Things go so much quicker when there are two of us.” Sabriel replied. “I’m so happy for you to be here. It will be nice to share the day with family, and Ellimere has somehow convinced Sam to dance the Bird of the Dawning, which I am very excited to see, though apparently that didn’t go so well last year.” She laughed.
Lirael smiled back at her sister. She was finally settling into the feeling of having a family, one who paid attention to her and loved her.
Sabriel lifted out a pack and set it down beside their other things, her mind on the upcoming holiday.
As she straightened, Touchstone swept her into a deep kiss that made Lirael blush and hastily turn away.
After a little while, they broke apart and he touched his forehead and nose to hers. “Welcome back.” He said quietly.
“You won’t have to say that as much now, nor wait so long between goodbye and hello.” She commented joyfully.
He grinned. “I know. I’m enjoying it already.” He nuzzled her neck softly and spoke their familiar reminder, “I love you and I don’t regret it.”
She smiled and brought her lips back to his “I don’t regret it either and I love you too.”
…
It was as quiet in Holehallow now as it was when she first saw the ship with Touchstone on it. This time, however, it was night, and the light of many torches followed her as she made her way towards the ships. She was dimly aware of the people holding the torches: Ellimere, Sam and Lirael beside her, Nicholas and her daughters in law and grandchildren close behind, but they seemed far away and somewhat unreal. The only thing that felt real was the urn in her hands. It was cold, cold as the one within it never was. That seemed unreal too; that he should be where he was. She knew that if she wanted to, she could make it false, could pretend that it wasn’t him she carried, as ashes, that they hadn’t just had a funeral for him, weren’t walking towards his funerary ship. That when she went to their room that evening, he would be there, waiting. Her mind is halfway there already. She allowed herself to feel the weight of her grief but willed herself not to fall beneath it. A familiar memory played out before her, one she had seen frequently these past days.
The grey curling through the brown, the scars on his palms and the new lines on his face; the true consequence of his work finally hit her.
“This is stealing your life.” She whispered.
He looked at her sadly.
“It is.” He agreed.
A pit opened up in her stomach as the realization that he would die years before his time washed over her.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered, and they held each other in the dark, cold reservoir next to the newly mended, bloodstained stones.
It felt now as though the despair she felt then had never left her. It pulls at her now and steals her breath.
She felt a hand on her arm and realized she’d stopped walking. She looked over to see Ellimere’s concerned face looking back, eyes glassy, but willing her to keep going. She shifted the urn to her left arm as she took her daughter’s hand. She squeezed it lightly in a silent thanks and continued.
She saw the ship before her now, but registered only the figurehead.
This time it’s fully clothed and the expression is serene. A circlet rested on his curls and in his right hand he held an open scroll. His left hand reached out towards them. The woodcarver had great skill, but the details that sparked her suspicions so many years ago are absent. His hands are unblemished and his face lacks something. Life, she supposed. She is thankful for that. Had it been any more real, she might have wondered whether he still lingered in Death, trapped in wood and magic and waiting for her to free him.
The others stood by the base of the figurehead as she, Sam, and Ellimere walked up the ramp into the ship. She looked to both of her children, now adults, and they placed their hands on the urn.
“May he find rest,” began Sam.
“May he find peace,” continued Ellimere.
“And may he travel swiftly beyond the ninth gate.” Sabriel finished softly.
They placed the urn in the small alcove by the bow, right behind where the head of the figurehead lay on the outside of the ship.
They stayed for a moment, silently saying their goodbyes. Then, without a word, they turned and left the way they’d come.
Everyone waited as they’d left them, as though they were the statues and not Touchstone. Lirael walked up to them as held out her hands to her sister. Sabriel looked into her sister’s dark eyes, twins to her own, “I need a moment with him.” She whispered.
Lirael nodded handed Sabriel her torch. Then she, Sam, and Ellie, as well as their spouses and children turned back towards the mouth of the cave.
She watched them go, lights receding and then disappearing altogether.
She turned back to the figurehead that was not quite Touchstone.
She stroked the figurehead's cheek, and let the tears stream down her pale face “I love you,” she whispered, "and I don't regret it."
Warning: Major Character Death
Summary:Sabriel and Touchstone wonder if they'll ever regret getting married.
They sat at the edge of the cliff near the Abhorsen’s house, watching the light recede. She leaned her head on his shoulder and he pressed his face into her hair.
She raised her head to kiss him and as they broke away he was struck by the notion that he should ask now.
“Marry me.” He blurted.
Her mouth parted in a small ‘o’ of surprise.
I said it. Damn! What possessed me to say it like that? I meant for it to be more romantic. I’ve been thinking about how to say it for weeks! That was so blunt. Charter, I’m an idiot. He pressed on.
“I love you more than I understand. I want to spend the rest of my life, however long or short it may be, with you, loving you.” He said sincerely. He scanned her face, trying to read her reaction.
For a second she said nothing, and then she closed her eyes and shook her head, laughing, “You beat me to it.” She confessed.
“I - You - Beat you to? - You were going to ask me?” He blustered.
“Well I didn’t know if you were going to… and I wanted…” she said, colour rising to her pale cheeks. She shook her head as if to sort out the words she was trying to say, “It doesn’t matter. The point is, yes.” She answered confidently.
“Yes?” He asked dreamily, a smile starting to brighten his face.
She laughed again and kissed him. “Yes.” She confirmed “I love you too and want to spent the rest of my life, long or short, with you.”
He brought his arms around her and kissed her full on the mouth, pulling her tight to him. She responded in kind, twining her fingers into his curls.
He broke away, grinning like an idiot. “We’re going to be married!”
For a moment Sabriel was full of hope and joy at the prospect of a long future with the man she so deeply loved and who so deeply loved her. She couldn’t find the words to tell him, but she hoped he could read that in her eyes as she beamed back at him. Then the problems they would face, the problems she’s sure he’s considered too came rushing back to her and her face clouded over.
"I’m going to be gone frequently. You'll have to wait for me. Often, probably. " She said, jaw clenching in frustration.
"Well if it’s the choice between waiting for you frequently during our life or waiting for you all of my life, I feel the choice is quite simple." He said softly, bringing his hand up to trace her jaw.
She forced herself to relax and take a deep breath.
“Besides, you forget that my job will also be quite time consuming.” He continued, “I may be here more often, but I will likely be constantly overwhelmed by work.”
“We’d also be resting both bloodlines on one marriage. We’d have to have an heir to each line. And probably only the two because Charter knows that would be dangerous enough.” She ruminated.
“Not to mention time consuming.” He added, brow furrowing.
“Speaking of which, how will I have time to be Queen when I’m busy running around being the Abhorsen?” She wondered, running a hand anxiously down her face.
“I’ll help… somehow. We’ll figure it out.” He insisted feebly.
“I don’t know if this is this going to work. You’ll regret it.” She said, shaking her head and looking away.
“You are the King and I am the Abhorsen. Whether we want these paths or not, our feet are firmly set on them and we cannot do something -”
“- that would be bad for the people.” He finished for her.
“Yes.” She concurred.
“So you don’t want to marry me?” He questioned bluntly.
Her eyes snapped back to him. “What? Of course I do! I just told you that! That’s not the point!” She protested.
“I think that’s entirely the point.” He replied. “People will grumble and raise many good points, mostly the ones you’ve raised, the ones I’ve raised in my mind almost every night. But all of that won’t matter because the point is that I won’t regret it. I will be frustrated by your frequent absences I am sure. I will miss you and hate the path you must walk, but I’m in love with you. I will always love you and I will never regret choosing to be with you. Will you regret choosing to be with me?”
She studied his face for a moment before replying confidently, though seeming slightly surprised by her own answer, “No. No I won’t.”
“Well that’s that then. We’re getting married.” He said softly, leaning his forehead against hers.
She closed her eyes and smiled again as she let their decision sink in.
The problems remained but they didn’t seem as threatening now. “We’re getting married.” She agreed.
… ⌘ …
She climbed out of the paperwing onto the roof where it felt like she’s stood yesterday watching Sanar and Ryelle’s vision of Kerrigor’s sarcophagus. But this was quite a different day. That journey had been her first official mission as the Abhorsen, uncertain and untried though she was. This trip had been her first summons, her first letter from a citizen asking her for help. She was still scared, but she was not the lost girl she had been such a short time ago.
She stared over the kingdom newly restored to Touchstone. It was her kingdom too, she reminded herself. That was still hard to wrap her head around. In the early morning light it looked so peaceful, far from the headache it really was.
As they had predicted, people had protested when she and Touchstone had announced that they intended to marry. Yet they worked through it, handling the objections with as much calm and grace as they could muster until she had to leave on her Abhorsen duties. They wrote, of course, almost every day, and they had planned what they would say to each concern they could think of, but Touchstone had had to handle the worst of the fallout by himself.
Touchstone’s letters had told her of the complaints, the protests the nobles and others made at their engagement. It seemed to reinforce their budding idea that these children were too foolish, their plans too unrealistic to take on something so great as a kingdom in grave disorder. Touchstone steadily rebuffed their insults and lack of trust, insisting that they would resolve the problems put to them and stating firmly that he would absolutely not marry someone he did not love simply because it would be convenient.
She had made Touchstone promise that he would not leave anything out, that he would never try to shield her. She tried to help, however hard it was from so far away, tired from the seeming never-ending petty necromancers, free magic creatures and, of course, the Dead that she did daily battle with.
As she stood pondering how tired she was of all of the stupid political drama, she felt strong arms wind around her, carefully avoiding the bells, and soft lips kiss her ear.
“I missed you. I love you. I don’t regret it.” He said softly. He had taken to saying that, minus the first statement, whenever their day had been especially frustrating.
She leaned back into his embrace. She still felt the weariness and the frustration, but it seemed less in Touchstone’s arms.
“I love you and missed you too. That was the longest two months of my life.” She sighed, closing her eyes.
Through her tiredness and relief at being home (home? When exactly had Belisaere become home?) she remembered what she’d wanted to tell him. What she’d realized a few weeks after she’d left but hadn’t wanted to reveal to him in a letter.
“I have something to tell you.” She said, turning to face him but not leaving his arms.
“What?” He asked, concern hardening his face.
"Nobody will be able to complain about resting two bloodlines on a marriage anymore, or at least for a while.” She answered, her eyes twinkling at him.
“Wha-” He started, but then his eyes widened as the meaning of her words dawned on him.
He was at a loss for words, his mind reeling at the shock of her revelation.
Still without speaking he lightly rested his hand over her abdomen, which was already beginning to curve out.
He let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in a sharp laugh.
“We’re going to be parents?” He managed.
“Yes.” She confirmed.
He threw his arms around her and spun her, kissing her lips, her cheek, her neck, and laughing. She held him and smiled at his joy, warmth filling her.
Sabriel raised her hand to his face, running her fingers over his closely cropped beard. “I love you. And I don’t regret it.”
… ⌘ …
“You’ve never even been to see any of their games or plays. You could at least try to make it for the midwinter celebration.” He yelled.
“I’m sorry I can’t always make it! I’m sorry I have to leave to defend your kingdom.” She hissed, glaring at him.
“My kingdom? You seem to forget that the problems of our kingdom are not my doing. You always use the same excuse. You don’t even try to make time for anything other than your duties anymore.” He hurled the accusation across the room at her.
She took a step back as though he’d slapped her.
“You know that’s not true.” She said softly. “Besides, I could go to Highbridge on the way there and I can deal with any other problem on the way back from Ancelstierre.” She tried to compromise, though her words were clipped and her voice was rising again.
“We can’t do that, because you’ll be gone before you could even get there in the first place!” He roared, gesturing angrily.
“I’m done with this argument!” She strode heatedly to the door but stopped and turned before opening it.
“You know what? Maybe if you worked with me instead of yelling at me we could work it out, but that never seems to be an option for you!” she snapped back at him.
He turned away; gripping the back of a chair so hard it almost broke. The silence was heavy, both of them furious beyond words.
She looked out the window, staring at the bright blue sky and the sun reflecting on the thick snow that lay over the great city like a blanket.
“I don’t regret it.” He said quietly.
“What?” She asked tiredly, her anger seeming to seep away with the word. She was still frustrated, but so weary of this battle that they’d fought a hundred times.
He walked over and pushed her back to the door, his hands gripping her arms almost painfully tightly. “I don’t regret it.” He repeated, his sharp, slate grey eyes holding her dark brown ones.
She crushed her mouth against his, anger returning to her, but shifting somehow so that it was almost something else. He released her and braced himself against the wall, hands on either side of her head as she pulled his hips towards her. “I am so angry at you. I hate your duty to the kingdom and I hate the fucking idiots who take you away from us.” He growled.
He kissed her fiercely, straying from her mouth to leave what she was sure would end up as bruises on her neck.
He sighed angrily and leaned his head on the wall beside hers as she tilted her head back, breathing heavily. “But Shiners know I love you, and I’ll help you however I can. I know how hard you try and how hard it is to walk away from them.”
“Thank you.” She murmured. “That’s all I wanted to hear, to know. I love you too.”
He looked down at the red spots he’d left on her neck and ran his hands over her arms, physically apologizing for his roughness, for his anger. “I’m so sorry -” he started.
“It’s fine. I’m alright.” She assured him. “And Touchstone?” she said, tilting his head up so that his eyes met hers.
“Yes?” He asked softly, his eyes still guilty.
“I don’t regret it either.”
… ⌘ …
Sabriel and Lirael chatted amiably as they unpacked their bags from the Paperwing.
“I’m so glad that we could be back in time for the festival. I’ve heard about it from the travels that visited The Glacier, but I’ve never been.” Lirael commented.
“Things go so much quicker when there are two of us.” Sabriel replied. “I’m so happy for you to be here. It will be nice to share the day with family, and Ellimere has somehow convinced Sam to dance the Bird of the Dawning, which I am very excited to see, though apparently that didn’t go so well last year.” She laughed.
Lirael smiled back at her sister. She was finally settling into the feeling of having a family, one who paid attention to her and loved her.
Sabriel lifted out a pack and set it down beside their other things, her mind on the upcoming holiday.
As she straightened, Touchstone swept her into a deep kiss that made Lirael blush and hastily turn away.
After a little while, they broke apart and he touched his forehead and nose to hers. “Welcome back.” He said quietly.
“You won’t have to say that as much now, nor wait so long between goodbye and hello.” She commented joyfully.
He grinned. “I know. I’m enjoying it already.” He nuzzled her neck softly and spoke their familiar reminder, “I love you and I don’t regret it.”
She smiled and brought her lips back to his “I don’t regret it either and I love you too.”
…
It was as quiet in Holehallow now as it was when she first saw the ship with Touchstone on it. This time, however, it was night, and the light of many torches followed her as she made her way towards the ships. She was dimly aware of the people holding the torches: Ellimere, Sam and Lirael beside her, Nicholas and her daughters in law and grandchildren close behind, but they seemed far away and somewhat unreal. The only thing that felt real was the urn in her hands. It was cold, cold as the one within it never was. That seemed unreal too; that he should be where he was. She knew that if she wanted to, she could make it false, could pretend that it wasn’t him she carried, as ashes, that they hadn’t just had a funeral for him, weren’t walking towards his funerary ship. That when she went to their room that evening, he would be there, waiting. Her mind is halfway there already. She allowed herself to feel the weight of her grief but willed herself not to fall beneath it. A familiar memory played out before her, one she had seen frequently these past days.
The grey curling through the brown, the scars on his palms and the new lines on his face; the true consequence of his work finally hit her.
“This is stealing your life.” She whispered.
He looked at her sadly.
“It is.” He agreed.
A pit opened up in her stomach as the realization that he would die years before his time washed over her.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered, and they held each other in the dark, cold reservoir next to the newly mended, bloodstained stones.
It felt now as though the despair she felt then had never left her. It pulls at her now and steals her breath.
She felt a hand on her arm and realized she’d stopped walking. She looked over to see Ellimere’s concerned face looking back, eyes glassy, but willing her to keep going. She shifted the urn to her left arm as she took her daughter’s hand. She squeezed it lightly in a silent thanks and continued.
She saw the ship before her now, but registered only the figurehead.
This time it’s fully clothed and the expression is serene. A circlet rested on his curls and in his right hand he held an open scroll. His left hand reached out towards them. The woodcarver had great skill, but the details that sparked her suspicions so many years ago are absent. His hands are unblemished and his face lacks something. Life, she supposed. She is thankful for that. Had it been any more real, she might have wondered whether he still lingered in Death, trapped in wood and magic and waiting for her to free him.
The others stood by the base of the figurehead as she, Sam, and Ellimere walked up the ramp into the ship. She looked to both of her children, now adults, and they placed their hands on the urn.
“May he find rest,” began Sam.
“May he find peace,” continued Ellimere.
“And may he travel swiftly beyond the ninth gate.” Sabriel finished softly.
They placed the urn in the small alcove by the bow, right behind where the head of the figurehead lay on the outside of the ship.
They stayed for a moment, silently saying their goodbyes. Then, without a word, they turned and left the way they’d come.
Everyone waited as they’d left them, as though they were the statues and not Touchstone. Lirael walked up to them as held out her hands to her sister. Sabriel looked into her sister’s dark eyes, twins to her own, “I need a moment with him.” She whispered.
Lirael nodded handed Sabriel her torch. Then she, Sam, and Ellie, as well as their spouses and children turned back towards the mouth of the cave.
She watched them go, lights receding and then disappearing altogether.
She turned back to the figurehead that was not quite Touchstone.
She stroked the figurehead's cheek, and let the tears stream down her pale face “I love you,” she whispered, "and I don't regret it."