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This is a one-shot based on Marianne Curley's "Guardians of Time" trilogy, which is my current obsession XD Takes place after the end of The Key. Major spoilers. Implied Arabella x Lorian.
Crystal
He is still everywhere, and she knows it. A rush of air, a tiny sound, he is all around her suddenly, and there is no escape. Her hands shake, and she can do little to control it, focusing harshly on the pale skin, on the vibrant blue of the veins beneath, willing them to be still. It is all she can do to remain quiet, remain sane, when all around her she feels the desolation of not being able to see him and yet feeling him so acutely. She knows he is dead, but she also knows that it’s impossible for him to be entirely gone when the air around her chambers in Athens is still so very thick with his presence.
“Where does an immortal go when he dies?” she asks Arkarian thoughtfully as they stand and watch Dartemis solemnly give the service inside the newly constructed temple, invisible to human eyes. Arkarian is drawn out of his grief long enough to look surprised, and his violet eyes lift to her face.
“I don’t know,” he replies, and places a comforting hand on her shoulder. His eyes look forward to the bodies of Lathenia and Lorian, lying side by side in caskets made of crystal that flashes every brilliant color of the rainbow. His eyes linger longest on his father’s still face, and Lady Arabella is aware of a shudder of grief as it passes through him. “I hope… it’s somewhere wonderful.”
She nods in agreement and acknowledges Isabel with a small, forced smile as the blonde girl steps forward to wrap her fingers through Arkarian’s and gives Arabella a sympathetic look. The silence is thick, broken only by the brother of the dead immortals as he speaks passionately about the death of his siblings. Arabella breathes deeply and remains in control, though it is a feat she barely accomplishes. Tears prickle hotly at the corners of her eyes, and as she bites them back she is dimly aware of Ethan watching her with hollow, soulless eyes. She knows, as do the others, that Rochelle was his soulmate, and she knows how deeply her death must have affected him. He understands, and in this she feels less alone and gives him a compassionate nod, remembering to keep her bearings.
She watches as Dartemis finishes his part of the eulogy and steps down, and she watches as Arkarian takes his place, his eyes damp but his composure maintained as he speaks of his late father, attempting not to look down and see the immortal’s still face. He doesn’t speak of Lathenia, but no one expects him to. Dartemis already has, and no one else is forgiving enough yet to speak a kind word about her, even in death. Arkarian trembles as he steps down, and Lord Penbarin goes up to begin his turn. She realizes now with a panic that she too will have to speak on Lorian’s behalf along with the rest of the Tribunal, and instantly her mouth goes dry. How can she speak words of mourning when she knows that it will only make his death more real?
Sir Syford takes the stand next, and then Queen Brystianne in her flowing, regal mourning gown. Slowly, in solemn succession, they all make their final acknowledgements to the man who lies before them, once a great leader and now reduced to nothing but a lifeless corpse, the glow completely gone from his pale skin. Alexandon, King Richard, Lady Devine, Elenna… it all goes far too fast, and she can feel herself trembling as she realizes that she must be next, standing at the edge of some abyss she finds it impossible to cross.
Her trek up to the pulpit is made purely on instinct, and she knows if she were to focus on what she is doing, she would freeze. Slowly, she lowers her frosted lashes to allow herself a moment of quiet thought, and when she lifts them she is met by the sight of Lorian’s still, listless face. His gleaming silver hair spills around him like water, and his skin looks almost mortal now without its unearthly glow. Those intense violet eyes are closed now, and she wonders how she can bear to keep looking at once was and what can never be again. From what seems like very far away, one of the others coughs.
“My dear friends…” she says softly as she finds her voice. She feels their eyes on her, filled with as much mourning as her own and filled with the last remnants of guilt for believing her to be the traitor. “Today we must mourn the passing of… a great being. We all knew and loved him, and though he only fathered one of us,” her eyes flick briefly to Arkarian, “I know that to some level we felt that he was like a wise guardian to us, watching over us when needed. And though he made mistakes, he always managed to correct them along the way. He… never left us lost,” she can feel her eyes growing moist and she ignores them, even when tears begin to slide down her cheeks. Her last words come out in small choked gasps. “But must this really be the future?” a future without Lorian is one she does not want. “Is there really no way to fix this?” trembling now, she locks eyes with each member of the Tribunal and Named respectively. “Can there really be nothing done to save the soul of an immortal after death?” she is becoming hysterical now, and has the sense to step down from the pulpit.
“My lady,” it is Richard who speaks, cutting through the silence with tenderness in his voice as he sets a strong hand on her arm. “You know as well as I do that nothing can be done to reverse death, not even for an immortal. You are talking out of grief, and only making yourself feel worse.”
Calming slightly, she nods and then bows her head to get a bit of privacy. Suddenly, though she knows it is disrespectful, she does not want to hear the rest of the service and moves slowly away into the shadows, preparing to use her wings and transport herself to Athens, back to the silent comfort of her chambers and to the snowy owl she has taken to nursing to calm her nerves. She recedes farther into the dark shadows and catches her breath. Just as she is about to depart, she feels a sturdy hand on her shoulder, and spins to find herself staring into Dartemis’ golden eyes.
“My lady, where could you be going so abruptly?” he asks, though his tone is not accusing.
“H-- to Athens,” she tells him. She almost says home, but nowhere feels like home when empty of Lorian, and she can still feel the painful stab of the loss in between her ribs, just as fierce in its intensity as her love for him has always been. “I have made a scene, and it is not sensible for me to stay.”
“Go if you must,” Dartemis regards her with gentle eyes, and she feels somewhat comforted looking upon the face that so resembles that of her lost and unrequited love. “But before you do I have something that I must say. I heard your question to my nephew at the beginning of the service, and I have the answer.”
She comprehends that he means Arkarian, and nods slightly, blinking to get her bearings. “And where is it that an immortal goes when he dies?” she asks, heart thudding softly as she awaits his answer. Dartemis lifts his eyes to the gleaming diamond panels overhead that make up the ceiling, and a slight smile creases his face as he speaks a single word that seems to reverberate through the Earth and beyond to the heavens.
“Home.”
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