36 for the ask game !!
[send me a number 1-100 and i will try to write a short drabble based off whatever song that corresponds to in my spotify wrapped]
36: Remembering Faye by Bear McCreary ft. Eivør
A week of remembrance didn't feel sufficient to mark the anniversary of Silvermoon's falling. An entire month would not suffice. They could have grieved all year long, staggering through the wrecked streets of their capital in whatever mourning attire they had not torn into bandages in the direct aftermath of the Scourge's invasion, and it still would not have been enough to properly honor the thousands slain by Arthas' blade or those who had wasted away in the wake of his desecration of the Sunwell.
But why should the dead care about being honored? Those who still walked this earth certainly did not, and those buried beneath it could not hear their wailing anyway. This gesture was for the living, not the dead: to remember, and then to let it go, at least until another year passed.
It had been Rommath's idea to delineate the official commemoration in such a manner. Shorter would not have felt appropriate to the enormity of the loss; any longer and they would merely be wallowing in what could not be changed.
"Do we expect people to limit their grief to a single week, and then go on with their normal life?" Halduron had wondered. "It seems like a tall order."
"Perhaps. But grief is heavy. It can be a relief to put it down without, in turn, having to shoulder the weight of the guilt that same relief elicits."
Every year from that moment on, on the anniversary of Silvermoon's fall, Rommath would observe the occasion with the gravity it deserved. He would light the incense. He would keep the fires lit. He would tend to his grief like a precious and delicate flower. He would bear the burden gladly, no matter how great the weight, how sharp the pain, how dark and lonely the path it forced him to walk. But he would only do so for a week.
Then he would lay it down again, and there it would remain. He would not look at it. He would not linger on it. He would not so much as think about it in the dark before sleep.
Not until another year has passed; a year he will hopefully have spent living.
