((Contains reference to adult situations.))
Dreven City; Late Spring 1259
The day Duncan had been dreading for the last few years had finally come. His mother's already ailing health had taken a turn for the worse, and no matter how much money his father spent on healers and Vivomancers, nothing could be done. A fever, they'd called it. A wasting illness, but Duncan knew better. He knew that at the heart of it all, it had been his sister's death that had broken his mother's spirit and finally taken her life. She had drowned her sorrows in serky for too long, and it had finally taken her from him.
Duncan knew it was his fault. He knew because that was what he'd been told since his sister's death. He couldn't have saved her if he'd tried. He'd only been a boy. It had been his parents' responsibility to keep an eye on her, and yet, somehow it had been easier for them to blame him than take that blame onto themselves. It had been that one single tragedy that had turned a happy family into a disaster. And now that Duncan's mother - his one saving grace - was gone, he knew his relationship with his father would only become that much more difficult.
Fittingly, it was a cold, dreary, rainy day when they'd put her in the ground, surrounded by people Duncan hardly knew and cared for even less. Not a friendly face in the crowd, save for a servant or two who'd come to pay their respects to the woman who'd been the mistress of the house and the only thing that had stood between the master and his son. Duncan remained at the grave well past the time when those gathered had dispersed, and not even his father's gruff reminder that he was expected home could budge him from her side. He remained there for what seemed like hours, until the sun was growing dark in the sky and a roll of thunder could be heard in the distance. Warm tears mingled with cold rain. No matter, it was all moisture, it was all the same to him. He stumbled blindly at last from the place, not knowing where to go, not caring where he arrived.
He'd have gone to the cottage, but it was too far on foot and he was too weary to make the walk on his own. He dreaded going home, knowing the lecture that awaited him now that his mother was gone. He expected no kindness from his father, but only harsh rules and reminders of what was expected of him. There was only one person he wanted to see and one place he wanted to go. It was nearly dark by the time he arrived there, shivering with cold, soaked to the skin, pale and weary and grief-stricken. He sagged and rested his head against the door, not even bothering to knock, only standing there, waiting for someone to answer, to rescue him from his own misery.
There were voices audible from within, both easy to recognise for the young man leaning heavily against the door that kept both from his sight. Mara and Elise were arguing - again - something which had happened all too frequently since the girl had turned sixteen and been told that she had only a single year before she was expected to support herself with the skills she was still learning. She had started to rebel, and though Elise often won these arguments, today she was losing. Because today, all Mara wanted to do was see Duncan, to be with him. The whole city knew of the death of his mother, that she was interred on this day, and only consideration for his father's recriminations had kept the girl from being at the graveside with her friend.
As the moments passed, footsteps sounded beneath the familiar, ranting voice, and the latch on the door was lifted, revealing Mara wrapped in a cloak, intending to run out into the rain to find him. Instead, she found him standing there, weak, shivering with cold, and her gasp was lost beneath the deafening roar of the spring rain. "Duncan ..." For a moment, she didn't know what to do, what to say. Then she reached for him, taking his cold hand in hers and pulling him inside. "Elise, build up the fire in my room," she called, pushing the door closed to lock it tight, turning her attention to her darling. "Duncan, you're wet to the skin. Come ....come to the fire, let me get you out of those wet clothes."
He offered no argument, letting her lead him where she would, half dazed and sick at heart. Though his mother's death had come as no great surprise, it had still hit him hard, a blow from which he had not yet recovered. He was unaware of the argument that had been going on between them, because of him, and perhaps it was better that way. He had piled too much guilt upon himself already, for the deaths of his sister and mother. Had he known he was a source of contention between the two women, it would have only heaped more guilt upon his young shoulders and made him grieve further. Though finely dressed, he was all in black, the color of mourning, a color that matched the shadow in his heart.
Elise paused in the passageway, her mouth opening to object only to fall silent when she saw the state of her charge's friend and lover. Without a word, she hurried to Mara's room ahead of them, working to build up the fire and lay out warm blankets.
Mara herself walked with Duncan, careful not to push him too hard or move him too fast, her fingers casting aside her own cloak on the nearest surface before turning her attention to removing the sodden cloth from around his shoulders. She could feel his grief, the sadness that weighed him down, touching soft kisses to his cold face as her fingers worked at the fastenings that held him in the chafing, fine cloth he wore. She didn't ask him to speak, or fill the silence with thoughtless chatter, having learned comfortable silence over the year that had passed. As his sodden, dripping clothes fell away, they were taken up by Elise, to be dried and laundered, leaving Duncan in Mara's care. She led him to a chair before the fire, wrapping him up in warm blankets. "Here," she told him softly, offering a glass of warmed wine that Elise had intended for her to drink before she slept. "Have you eaten?"
Duncan seemed to move woodenly, as if lost in a daze, barely aware that his wet, sodden clothes were being stripped away. No attempt was made to argue or resist. It was as if he was only half there, his thoughts far away, in a state of half-frozen shock and heart-wrenching grief. He said nothing, his face pale and strained, his body cold to the touch. He let her lead him to a chair and wrap him up in blankets, not saying a single word or even acknowledging her presence, until at last she somehow drew him out of his thoughts with a simple question and the offer of wine.
He looked confused for a moment, as though he hadn't understood the question, hardly remembering how he'd come to be there. "Eaten?" he echoed, as if the very thought of food had been the farthest thing from his mind. He couldn't remember when he'd eaten last, though he supposed it must have been recently enough. His eyes filled with tears as he looked up at her, though he thought he had cried himself out. "I..." He broke off, swallowing hard, unable to steady the tremor in his voice
She had only seen him cry once, and even then, it had been more anger than anything. She had no idea how to take this suddenly lost little boy he had become, hurting and grieving and unable to speak even a few words without that pain welling up. She twisted for a moment, grasping another chair to pull it close to where he sat, sweeping down onto it as her arms moved to wrap around him. "Sweetheart, it's all right," she promised him in a quiet murmur, her fingers stroking through his wet curls. "It's just me."
If she had not possessed his heart before, she most certainly did now, as she took him into her embrace. He had lacked open affection from anyone but her since his sister's death, feeling more broken and alone than ever now that his mother had died. There would be no words of praise or fondness from his father, that he knew, and Duncan had stopped trying to win the man's love long ago, preferring indifference to disapproval. He let her wrap him up in her embrace, made no effort to try and hide the anguish he was feeling, not from the one person who knew him better than anyone. In that moment, he lost his heart to her completely, drawing comfort from her to ease the pain that was wrenching his heart and crushing his spirit.
Mara didn't know what to say, much less what to do. This wasn't something any amount of training could have prepared her for, and in a way, she was glad of that. She didn't want to remind him of something else that raked over his last nerve, not when he was like this. Dragging her chair right up against his with one foot, she nestled as close as she could, gathering him into her arms without a care for the drip of water from his hair into the thin silk of her chemise and dress. All she could do was hold him, murmur the same reassurances that she was there for him, and hope that Duncan found his way back to her from the midst of the darkness he was lost in.
Dreven City; Late Spring 1259
The day Duncan had been dreading for the last few years had finally come. His mother's already ailing health had taken a turn for the worse, and no matter how much money his father spent on healers and Vivomancers, nothing could be done. A fever, they'd called it. A wasting illness, but Duncan knew better. He knew that at the heart of it all, it had been his sister's death that had broken his mother's spirit and finally taken her life. She had drowned her sorrows in serky for too long, and it had finally taken her from him.
Duncan knew it was his fault. He knew because that was what he'd been told since his sister's death. He couldn't have saved her if he'd tried. He'd only been a boy. It had been his parents' responsibility to keep an eye on her, and yet, somehow it had been easier for them to blame him than take that blame onto themselves. It had been that one single tragedy that had turned a happy family into a disaster. And now that Duncan's mother - his one saving grace - was gone, he knew his relationship with his father would only become that much more difficult.
Fittingly, it was a cold, dreary, rainy day when they'd put her in the ground, surrounded by people Duncan hardly knew and cared for even less. Not a friendly face in the crowd, save for a servant or two who'd come to pay their respects to the woman who'd been the mistress of the house and the only thing that had stood between the master and his son. Duncan remained at the grave well past the time when those gathered had dispersed, and not even his father's gruff reminder that he was expected home could budge him from her side. He remained there for what seemed like hours, until the sun was growing dark in the sky and a roll of thunder could be heard in the distance. Warm tears mingled with cold rain. No matter, it was all moisture, it was all the same to him. He stumbled blindly at last from the place, not knowing where to go, not caring where he arrived.
He'd have gone to the cottage, but it was too far on foot and he was too weary to make the walk on his own. He dreaded going home, knowing the lecture that awaited him now that his mother was gone. He expected no kindness from his father, but only harsh rules and reminders of what was expected of him. There was only one person he wanted to see and one place he wanted to go. It was nearly dark by the time he arrived there, shivering with cold, soaked to the skin, pale and weary and grief-stricken. He sagged and rested his head against the door, not even bothering to knock, only standing there, waiting for someone to answer, to rescue him from his own misery.
There were voices audible from within, both easy to recognise for the young man leaning heavily against the door that kept both from his sight. Mara and Elise were arguing - again - something which had happened all too frequently since the girl had turned sixteen and been told that she had only a single year before she was expected to support herself with the skills she was still learning. She had started to rebel, and though Elise often won these arguments, today she was losing. Because today, all Mara wanted to do was see Duncan, to be with him. The whole city knew of the death of his mother, that she was interred on this day, and only consideration for his father's recriminations had kept the girl from being at the graveside with her friend.
As the moments passed, footsteps sounded beneath the familiar, ranting voice, and the latch on the door was lifted, revealing Mara wrapped in a cloak, intending to run out into the rain to find him. Instead, she found him standing there, weak, shivering with cold, and her gasp was lost beneath the deafening roar of the spring rain. "Duncan ..." For a moment, she didn't know what to do, what to say. Then she reached for him, taking his cold hand in hers and pulling him inside. "Elise, build up the fire in my room," she called, pushing the door closed to lock it tight, turning her attention to her darling. "Duncan, you're wet to the skin. Come ....come to the fire, let me get you out of those wet clothes."
He offered no argument, letting her lead him where she would, half dazed and sick at heart. Though his mother's death had come as no great surprise, it had still hit him hard, a blow from which he had not yet recovered. He was unaware of the argument that had been going on between them, because of him, and perhaps it was better that way. He had piled too much guilt upon himself already, for the deaths of his sister and mother. Had he known he was a source of contention between the two women, it would have only heaped more guilt upon his young shoulders and made him grieve further. Though finely dressed, he was all in black, the color of mourning, a color that matched the shadow in his heart.
Elise paused in the passageway, her mouth opening to object only to fall silent when she saw the state of her charge's friend and lover. Without a word, she hurried to Mara's room ahead of them, working to build up the fire and lay out warm blankets.
Mara herself walked with Duncan, careful not to push him too hard or move him too fast, her fingers casting aside her own cloak on the nearest surface before turning her attention to removing the sodden cloth from around his shoulders. She could feel his grief, the sadness that weighed him down, touching soft kisses to his cold face as her fingers worked at the fastenings that held him in the chafing, fine cloth he wore. She didn't ask him to speak, or fill the silence with thoughtless chatter, having learned comfortable silence over the year that had passed. As his sodden, dripping clothes fell away, they were taken up by Elise, to be dried and laundered, leaving Duncan in Mara's care. She led him to a chair before the fire, wrapping him up in warm blankets. "Here," she told him softly, offering a glass of warmed wine that Elise had intended for her to drink before she slept. "Have you eaten?"
Duncan seemed to move woodenly, as if lost in a daze, barely aware that his wet, sodden clothes were being stripped away. No attempt was made to argue or resist. It was as if he was only half there, his thoughts far away, in a state of half-frozen shock and heart-wrenching grief. He said nothing, his face pale and strained, his body cold to the touch. He let her lead him to a chair and wrap him up in blankets, not saying a single word or even acknowledging her presence, until at last she somehow drew him out of his thoughts with a simple question and the offer of wine.
He looked confused for a moment, as though he hadn't understood the question, hardly remembering how he'd come to be there. "Eaten?" he echoed, as if the very thought of food had been the farthest thing from his mind. He couldn't remember when he'd eaten last, though he supposed it must have been recently enough. His eyes filled with tears as he looked up at her, though he thought he had cried himself out. "I..." He broke off, swallowing hard, unable to steady the tremor in his voice
She had only seen him cry once, and even then, it had been more anger than anything. She had no idea how to take this suddenly lost little boy he had become, hurting and grieving and unable to speak even a few words without that pain welling up. She twisted for a moment, grasping another chair to pull it close to where he sat, sweeping down onto it as her arms moved to wrap around him. "Sweetheart, it's all right," she promised him in a quiet murmur, her fingers stroking through his wet curls. "It's just me."
If she had not possessed his heart before, she most certainly did now, as she took him into her embrace. He had lacked open affection from anyone but her since his sister's death, feeling more broken and alone than ever now that his mother had died. There would be no words of praise or fondness from his father, that he knew, and Duncan had stopped trying to win the man's love long ago, preferring indifference to disapproval. He let her wrap him up in her embrace, made no effort to try and hide the anguish he was feeling, not from the one person who knew him better than anyone. In that moment, he lost his heart to her completely, drawing comfort from her to ease the pain that was wrenching his heart and crushing his spirit.
Mara didn't know what to say, much less what to do. This wasn't something any amount of training could have prepared her for, and in a way, she was glad of that. She didn't want to remind him of something else that raked over his last nerve, not when he was like this. Dragging her chair right up against his with one foot, she nestled as close as she could, gathering him into her arms without a care for the drip of water from his hair into the thin silk of her chemise and dress. All she could do was hold him, murmur the same reassurances that she was there for him, and hope that Duncan found his way back to her from the midst of the darkness he was lost in.