Sil'Rana
Silrana
As the dust settles...
Brother Peter finds himself sitting in a chair by the fire with a cup of tea - Not really drinking or thinking, just staring into the fire, feeling millions of miles away from where he is now.
His face lacks expression, as if life had been tapped from him. Even though he sits close to the fire, he looks cold.
Sil Rana quietly puffs on his wooden pipe, staring into the flames. He notes Peter's presence as he comes to sit nearby. Half an hour passes like this, with them quietly sitting. Sil Rana studies Peter's face for a time, recognizing what he sees.
"I am sorry for your loss, Peter. They were more than just your wards, weren't they?"
Peter's face flickers in anguish as he looks over to Sil Rana, and it seems to calm when he focuses. It seems an eternity to gather the words to say before even making a sound, but his voice is surprisingly
soft and melodic, like a slow, sad song.
"... Yes. I had been taking care of the children for almost six years now, since I was fifteen."
"They were all so excited to go to the Festival - it was all their first time. I suppose Lady Hawking wanted to spend time with them, her having so little of it back at home. Just yesterday we were walking along hand-in-hand, enjoying treats, the sun, the people, all of the colorful tents... we were having such a nice day. Just yesterday..."
Peter's eyes become teary, and he looks down into his now cold tea. "Y-yes. They're the closest family I've ever had. I loved them, very much. And now, they're-" His hands tremble a bit, the surface of the tea rippling. He sits still, not looking up, silently trying to stay together.
"Dead," says Sil Rana, "But not forgotten." His faraway voice seems to speak of not just the loss of the Hawkings, but of some long held memory of his own as well.
"Grieve Peter. Mourn their passing and your loss."
Peter sits still for quite a long time again, not saying anything.
Sil Rana does nothing to fill the silence, just watches the fire and occasionally puffs on his pipe.
"I guess I should thank you." Peter says, choking a bit on the words. "- The Rangers. We would not be here without them. Bless them, for their noble hearts."
"Thank you, Peter. I am sure that you really mean that," Sil Rana replies with a sad and knowing smile.
"But hear me now and head my advice," he says slowly, "You cannot avoid your pain by focusing on those around you, you will only prolong it."
"I can see that you are a giving soul, Peter. Yet, my ego needs no soothing now, even with words as kind as yours. You are the one in need of care, you have lost much and your heart is full of sorrow. Tend to yourself now, Peter, or your grief will eat you and leave you empty."
Sil Rana looks Peter in the eye, his gaze intense, "Trust me, my new friend, I know of what I speak. Grieve for your loss, heal thyself, or you will have nothing left to offer when others are Truly in need of you."
Sil Rana stands, as if to leave Peter and give him some privacy, but stops to place a comforting hand upon his shoulder first.
Peter looks down to Sil's hand, then up to meet his gaze and manages a weak but genuine, warm smile. For so long Peter had been the caretaker he had almost forgotten what it was like to be cared for.
Peter pats Sil's hand and says quietly, "Goodnight, Sil Rana," and returns to tending to his tea and watching over the fire.
The morning air was crisp and chilly, and a slight mist rose from the earth - the land waking up to accept the sun. Peter sat kneeling next to a birch in the graveyard, surrounded by a small collection of stones, markers, wildflowers - whatever the people of the village could manage to act as a marker for those that had passed away. The air smelled of the land and the cold of the morning and was silent and still before man would awaken and start another busy day in their lives.
Peter finished his blessing on the last of the stones, all five of them now sat in a circle around the birch tree. Peter looked down on the stones as if they were his own family - for they were the markers for Lady Hawking and her children. "I'm sorry I couldn't find something more appropriate, I hope you understand." He paused, letting out a sigh of mist. "Heavenly Lord, I call to you. Your children have awakened from their mortal slumber. They bring their love to you, the love they have shared with all others while within this circle. For Lady Hawking and her children, may they find their true happiness within you. I call to you, and ask for your blessing upon them, your guidance, your love, and your peace. Forever and ever more, Amen." Peter stands, as one of his tears spatters on one of the stones below. "There. May you be at peace."
Peter faces the rising sun, and closes his eyes, feeling a slight breeze pass, rustling the leaves and the petals of the flowers. After a few deep breaths, Peter begins to sing - it's a song of mourning, and it carries the weight not only of the deaths of Lady Hawking and her children but also of all of the other lives that have been lost, all of the souls that will receive no blessing, no marker, no funeral. Peter lets go of the restraint on his heart and sings with full emotion a song for the dead.
And somewhere near the outskirts of the graveyard, out of sight and unbeknownst to Peter, stands the Ranger keeping watch lest anyone would disturb his solitude and ritual.
