It was late morning and though the autumn nights had been quite cold, it was now pleasantly warm in Aldburg. At that moment, beneath a small cluster of trees, two young figures were lying side by side. Ash and Deor would do this often enough and would often be heard speaking to each other in gentle tones, meant only for the ears of each other. But this moment, they had simply been lying in a comfortable silence, merely basking in the closeness of the other.
Ash took his hand and rested her forehead against his, scooting closer to look into his eyes. Never, before meeting him, had she seen eyes the colour of his. Though he thought them unappealing, she loved them and thought them warm and beyond beautiful. Eyes in which a lass could get lost. So, as the morning sunlight filtered through the leaves and rested on their faces, she took in every detail of him she could.
Her thoughts must have flickered through her own eyes as she stared down into his, stroking his hair back from his forehead. "What?" He'd asked with a small chuckle, not reading her thoughts in the way he so often seemed to do. She didn't want to ruin the moment with her exact thoughts, so she said simply in a tone with little breath, "I cannot believe you are mine..." It was close enough to her thoughts that she had not been lying, but different enough to earn one of his beautiful and beloved smiles. The smile she had only seen him give to her.
Her thoughts, though nagging, calmed under his smile. "I am so afraid to lose you. What will I do if I lose you? How would I go on?" The thoughts had been saying instead. But now, as he whispered, "Only yours, my love," and nudged her nose with his, her fears had been calmed for the moment. She was content to rest her forehead on his and hold her love close while the world around them was quiet and hardly existed.
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Looking back to their memories together, Ash smiles painfully. Perhaps she should have told him her thoughts. Made her fear of losing him known in that moment. Would it have changed anything? Likely not. But he would have known and perhaps felt even more loved than he had with her answer.
She did lose him. She'd had no idea how to move forward for the longest while, but she had learned. Grieving is a learned art. Being utterly destroyed and picking up all the pieces of yourself you can find to be reforged is a beautiful, bittersweet skill to have. To rise and live on those days you would rather to simply...cease. It takes a strength from beyond. She hadn't found the strength until after losing him. The way in which she could somehow truly have joy and peace, even as she lay facedown, weeping in her excrutiating pain.
All people leave her eventually. Some by choice. Others simply ripped away. But she always leaves their doors open. There comes a time she stops standing there, calling for them to return. But she always hopes they will.
If and when they do, she'll have tea ready in no time.
