#asarel

tw: Child death

The hilltop wasn’t overly tall, but just tall enough to break through the trees. It was a pretty clearing and always got lots of sun and weather. Wildflowers skipped through the grasses and butterflies rested. There was a dirt path to the top, but nothing more than a deer run. Cabin smoke gave the air a tang and sometimes she heard the feral gryphons call.

Kharris came every year for a few days. Asarel came with her. And the three elves and one old wolf would have a quiet, reflective week. She sometimes cried. Sometimes she didn’t. But few words broke her breath these few melancholy days in late September.

Tomorrow, he would have been twelve years old. Her heart hollowed out once more and she sat for a few hours staring over the Hinterlands and seeing nothing. Fingers moved idly through native grasses that seemed to swallow her and the clearing. There wasn’t much in the way of a gravestone. Just a marker made of wood that was refreshed when needed. Flowers and offerings occasionally given.

She had gone to the Shadowlands to find him last year. He had not come to her on the Day of the Dead and he always came. Something had been wrong. But she had failed, and they had not found more than that he was likely in Ardenweald somewhere.

She would go back. But not yet. She needed time to recover. Finding nothing but worry and confusion had been draining. Asarel had been right to bring her home. Even for this. Rowan. His bones were here. As was her heart. Especially now.

The fear for the future she felt was gnawing at her. No one could tell her it wouldn’t happen again.

@daily-writing-challenge

As she lay in bed, Kharris ran her fingers over the smooth glass vial. It was familiar. It was habit. She rolled her lips before her tongue wet them. The medication in the little bottle was her own concoction, and she trusted it completely. It would do its job. It tasted of raspberry--just how she liked it. She put the empty vial back into the case, where several more waited, and just as many rested empty and ready for refilling. Reprisal never solved anything, but it did have a momentary satisfaction to it. Sometimes, for some, that was good enough. For someone who thrived in chaos, chasing those moments felt like a stone skipping across the water. Ripples met ripples and disrupted tranquility, even as the stone slipped into the deep. The meeting with Aelberyn had gone well. And she’d been right, Aelberyn was her ally in this. They were friendly enough these days. They had an understanding. The discussion had been amicable if not relaxed. Kharris had been touched by the stalwart response of the younger woman. Aelberyn was certain it would go about the way Kharris worried most about: violence. She loved Iloam’s passion, his depth of feeling. However, Asarel would not be meek, and Kharris feared Aelberyn was right about him, too: Asarel might take the opportunity to finish it all, if it came to that. And it was Kharris most caught in the middle. Her life rolling out in those ripples of reprisal constantly crashing into each other. She had time. It wasn’t as if things were in motion. And again Aelberyn and Kharris had agreed, now was not the time. She’d tell him later. Autumn was hard enough for both of them. @daily-writing-challenge Day 25 Reprisal/Immortal

Kharris wrote very carefully, frowning enough to hint at her dimples. Once her hand writing would have been elegant. She would have easily written the scant few words on her paper. But now, even after years relearning, her writing was crisp but lacking any grace. It was sticks stomping on a page instead of ribbons dancing to unheard music. Her writing looked angry to her. It made her words sound cold. How would they seem if reading and writing had never been scraped away from her mind when her soul had been injured all those years ago? When her spirit had become friable and tore like tissue paper? Deliberately, she set the dip pen down before. Any who knew her would know it was to push away the temptation to throw it. An ink droplet hung at the tip, threatening to add its own emotion to the page. She used to periodically keep a journal. And now, periodically, she attempted again. To order her thoughts and sort through her emotions. She had wanted to write something worthwhile. Something that would mean something. There were changes coming, even if just shifts in thinking. She needed to talk to Aelberyn. Then she would need to talk to Iloam. She had already spoken to Asarel. Her dark eyes narrowed down at the letters. She pushed up from the chair and walked away.

My love is savage.

@daily-writing-challenge

Her head rested on Asarel's bare chest, her black hair fanning out over the pale skin. He was not sleeping, he still so rarely slept well, but he was resting. His fingers teased slowly through her hair and she was grateful. Her head chased his hand subtly. He knew what she needed, even if neither of them could articulate it.

Two weeks out, nearly, and she finally felt easy breathing. Her heart was calmer again, with no adrenaline spiking through her sleep, no half-heard voice. That part usually only lasted a few days. The nightmares had had come only one night, but were soothed by the warm embrace of her lover. The other dreams had lingered, as they did every year, but the ache was bittersweet and more welcome.

It was just that she missed him so much. Even the bad was welcome to linger, if it reminded her of the closeness she could call this time of year.

Kharris kept her eyes closed. She could picture him again. This time as the boy he would have been this year. Eleven years old. He would be slender with color in his complexion. A spattering of freckles across his open face, even on his plush lips.  Black hair that kissed his shoulders. A little knobby kneed, too lanky with a growth spurt recently started. She wished, again, that Asarel could see him. The baby. The toddler. The boy. All of them. Asarel was the artist. Asarel would have painted something for her, if only he could see Rowan.

The days after the Day of the Dead were always carefully kept quiet. Asarel dealt with his own losses. She went with him, the last few years, both of them secure enough to share even that with each other. The grief and joy at seeing her son's spirit always mixed so violently in her, brutal internal and private blows, that tempests seemed tame to Kharris. It wracked and repaired her soul all at once. She worried for Iloam. He preferred to be solitary in his grief. She thought it was likely a kraken for him; something from the dark, cold depths that rose. Squeezing. Strangling. Pehaps Aelberyn now was allowed. She hoped so, for his sake. Or maybe he spent these days with the twins. She didn't know. She couldn't face him, at this time of year. And he did not want to see her anyway.

Kharris gave Kieran another hug while Coire waited grumpily near the small group of elves. The old direwolf didn't appreciate the disruption of this time of year. Kharris smiled to see the wolf, understand some of his agitation.

She kissed her friend's cheek and sank down to the flat of her feet. He was much taller than she was. It always surprised her, no matter how many times she saw him.

They were no longer children, but they would always be startled by that, so deeply entrenched in each other's more innocent days.

Guilt pulled at her here. Guilt for leaving Kieran out here with only his wolf for company. She knew that she and Asarel were welcome here--but at the same time, Kieran would undoubtedly feel some ease as they left.

Asarel readjusted their packs on the animals and helped Kharris up. She had let ATS know she would not be coming home for the rest of the month. Castien would have things well in hand, and if he didn't Ylaise would get it done.

Kharris looked up toward the grave of her son on the hill. A fresh wave of other guilt welled up in her and threatened to drown her fragile return to living.

If only she hadn't been here. A clinic. A proper midwife or doctor. A hospital rather than a cabin.

It had seemed so natural at the time--women gave birth every day. Offspring should need no help to come into the world. Theryl had had several of her own children, she knew what to expect. She would help guide Kharris...

Theryl had tried, but there had been nothing to help the tragedy. Kharris had failed to do nature's set task.

If only she'd gone to a doctor....

The guilt hung heavy with hubris, and she would never be sure her son hadn't paid the crushing price...

(( This post is a reply to Ruecien's post here: http://ruecien.tumblr.com/post/177631332602/sharing-trouble 

This post is cross posted from CharDiary.com at: https://chardiary.com/c/kharris-22/diary/entries/519 ))

Included in a small parcel was an elegant envelope and thick, expensive parchment. The script was less refined than he might have remembered, as if learned and mastered as an adult and only recently. A small tin of personally blended goldthorn tea and a series of packets of seeds from the Kul Tiras with a variety of drawings with descriptions and notations as she felt he might enjoy.

Dearest Ruecien,

I have received your letter and have thought it over. Trouble has been long absent for many of us, and I fear Sinobel is not the only one to start stagnating. We've all long kept our noses down and out of the fires that surround us. While good for safety and security, perhaps less so for our many adventurous spirits in the ATS Crew. No apologies are needed for not keeping in touch, as I was lax on this, too, hmm?  Never fret with me, my friend, and call on me whenever I may be of assistance.

A little catching up is in order. I do well, and my Shadow stays with me still. We are happy in each other. Atlas was never was 'defunct', and she does well now, recovered from the attack on the Barge a few years back. We returned to our trading partners and deals, hiding our treasures on the island and the Barge until we've made even the Trade Prince seethe with our savvy profitability--Castien and Ylaise are always helpful there, they each have such an eye for appraisals. We still go on missions and secure work, but perhaps with too much emphasis on staid seas, rather than satisfyingly scandalous romps. We'll have to change that. The contents of your own letter align so very well with my own designs, I think we can come to a mutual satisfaction.

I think I can understand your concerns for Sinobel. I think Asarel has much the same for me, and me for him, if I come down to it. ATS keeps me busy, but it doesn't  fulfill me, if I'm being honest, the way we are now. I was never a businesswoman and never much cared for leading. I have kept them safe in  body, but I think our soul is anemic. I am good at keeping the Crew safe and being responsible for them. But I never cared for it, and have lost part of myself in it. Your letter struck me to heart because I saw, in your reflection of Sinobel's ailment, the certainty of my own. In firming our footing, I've lost a bit of my own rhythm and it's been disconcerting and disheartening to feel my own life out of step with my spirit.

Love is dreadful and wonderful and sometimes the core of it is compromises. I'll write Sinobel as soon as I've finished my letter to you. I hope you'll join her and not sequester yourself in Pandaria? Please do come and call, I could use your quick mind in helping me. I have some *a larger ink blot is born from a pause* puzzles of my own, and your input as a fellow alchemist would be invaluable.

Wishing to see you soon,

Kharris Dawndancer-Blacksong

CEO, Atlas Treasure Salvage

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In a separate package, much smaller but heavier, is included a shiny new compass with the ATS Sextant engraved. Inside is the inscription 'Look out for Trouble'. There is a new leather travel journal of the type for sketches and note taking.

Sinobel,

I'm sure you've heard, but there are new lands to see and explore. ATS could use a good map or two.

~KDB