She could never admit it aloud, not to anyone who would listen, that every dawn was a peak to summit. The breaking of sunlight through curtains, through slats and shutters and blinds, it mattered less and less the location and more the length of time that it had been since the sun had risen in her eyes. A light had gone out for all of them, then, and she knew that she was not alone in her loss - indeed, that some shared it, and burdened their own, she could never have approached Lord Sigurd for his shoulder to bear the weight of her tears when he could scarce hide how they stooped from his own grief - but there was a piece of her that had died as certainly as he when that tumble of gold met marble and drowned in the sea of red to follow.
It was not that there were not those who would help her shoulder the pain, it was that there was no point in asking, when it would never subside, when the burden of it would never lessen and she would never find herself the less pathetic for it.
She was of Nordion, and she would stand firm before all. Her tears were not for them.
The birdsong filtered through the tiny dormitory window, followed shortly by the sheer translucence of a new sun on a clear day, dappling the far wall across from her bunk. She indulged herself, just briefly, for a moment, reaching as though her fingers could catch the light, but it slipped beyond her.
She was stronger now, than when she first arrived, but still the tremors wracked her body until Lachesis took the time to breathe, to center herself, and to rise and make herself presentable to the world once more. A quick wash of her face in a clean basin of water, a shuck of old bedclothes into clean linen, and a breath - in, then out - and she pressed her fingers against the woodgrain of the door and faced the day.
The routines had become familiar from there, to move about from this place or the next, chores here and there in between idleness, a lack of purpose she found abominable and necessary, becoming accustomed more and more day by day to the faces, to the stories they told, and to the world that housed them here so high in the mountains.
The knights liked her, rather - they always did, no matter where she went, and so it was easy to hear a tale from them in exchange for a few smacks in the training pit. Fresh faced boys and fools, to a man, but harmless enough.
Her steps clicked through the stone arch into their hall, making toward the familiar row of bookshelves, the comfortable seats by the fire, fingers finding another volume she hadn't read before turning and finding the breath stolen from her, book spine tapping against the ground before Lachesis had even realized she had dropped it in the face of the bloody ghost of her nightmares, of her every waking moment, the red light of him painting the walls -
No, that wasn't blood, merely firelight, flickering with the rise and fall of his chest.
He didn't breathe in her dreams, as still as the statuary she had been as well. The pair of them, inseparable, separate, in the dark.
"A-ares, boy, you startled - "
Her voice thickened, tight around the word that she had not allowed herself to say aloud in a lifetime. She was of Nordion, and her tears were for him.
There is an old superstition that exists amongst the common men and nobility alike. In the split second before death comes for you, there is a vivid recollection of all the moments that have brought you to this moment, with no regard to whether those are pleasant thoughts or negative ones-- it plays like a movie in slow motion, and it's almost as if you finally understand what purpose your life served as it all flashes by.
He remembers it well. There's many things that have faded from memory, along with a foggy recollection of how his life had been spared, but the overbearing weight of the executioner's axe will serve as a bitter reminder of his failures and the oaths he couldn't keep. Sometimes, almost as if second-guessing himself, Eldigan can nearly feel the bite of a sharp edge at the base of his skull, and every muscle in his body tenses as if he's prepared for his sentence. Prepared for that final curtain call, the last bits of his script rehearsed and performed.
In his memory, he sees a light that blinds him-- his eyes squint for the briefest of moments, a single hand raising to shield his vision from it. It only takes a second for his pupils to adjust, and once it does... he's finally able to see what lies in front of him.
What a fool he's been, to think that his sun could ever be anything other than Lachesis. From even the first moments he laid eyes on her as an infant, to the first time her fingers ever wrapped around one of his; her brilliance brought him a joy he could never imagine his life without. A flame that can easily sear his flesh should he gain her ire, yet one that burns hot enough to warm his heart.
It only makes sense for a majority of his final moments to be filled with her smile. Her laughter, reserved for some off-handed comment he's made that she finds amusing; her frown, no doubt a result of a needlessly reckless choice he's made for the sake of duty; tear-filled eyes that plead for him to stay. To linger in her presence, to put his weapon down so they can exist in this world together-- as brother and sister. Eldigan and Lachesis. A reflection of the best in each other.
How it always should've been. What a fool he's been.
It only makes sense. When the light leaves his eyes, so does Lachesis-- and the darkness is all he knows.
Wrongs can be righted, or so he hopes. So he needs to believe; eyes open, heart beating, chest rising and falling with his breath... but it all feels as if it stops in a familiar freezing of time when that voice drifts into his consciousness.
Every muscle in his body tenses. But this time, it's not in preparation for the end of life. This time, it's in preparation for the second beginning of it-- turning on his heel, amber reflects against the same hue as his gaze locks with Lachesis's, mouth parted slightly in an expression of shock.
For all of the failures he's accrued, her loss is not one of them. She's here, and that realization is enough for him to be certain: he will not face that suffocating darkness again.
"... You're alive."
A lop-sided smile slowly stretches across his face, eyes softening in a manner that only remains for her; in the same way he gazed fondly in their youth, hand upon the top of her head as a means of affection.
"Lachesis... I'm sorry I've taken so long. I'm home."
