fic: Waiting
Aug. 22nd, 2013 07:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisTitle: Waiting
Series: Radiant Historia
Character/Pairing: Rosch/Stocke/Sonja-ish
Rating: pg-13
Word count: 1047
Author's note: Mildly diversion from canon in that in that 1) At Journey's End never happened, 2) Rosch and Sonja aren't married yet.
Sonja woke in empty quarters to a persistent ache and feeling of dizziness. She rose to prepare the herbs which would quell the churning within her, lurching forward with that first step. She clung to the rail of the bed and waited for the first wave of nausea to pass. Peace had returned, life went on. But it had come at a terrible price: never would she hear the insistent training of Kiel, Falran and so many others. She would never see a hint of red at a corner, with Stocke outside talking to Rosch.
There was a scientist within the walls who had begun research against the desertification. Conuts and raised hopes growing in the endless span of desert. There were new marriages and new life within her. Her wedding had been postponed for many reasons given: the busyness of reconstruction, the healing. There was one unspoken one known between both of them: because Stocke isn't here, and it wouldn't feel right without him.
*
In the dark of night, her hand rested on Rosch's broad, scarred back. She'd healed a thousand and more wounds of his, and he'd be sure to get many, many more through the years. Every time he went out, she packed tinctures and potions enough to keep him with her a little longer.
"You aren't alone in missing him," she said.
"I never was patient enough. I've put off making a grave for so long, but..." he sighed. "I should lay their souls to rest. I'll make the markers tomorrow."
"Even if you don't believe they're truly gone?"
"He was...words fail me. Everything I could say won't come out right. Life doesn't feel the same without him in it."
"I know," she said, holding him closer. "I feel the same."
*
She'd put off telling him at first. She'd wanted to make sure it wasn't a quick sickness, or anything else to dash his hopes. That morning, half-dressed as she helped assemble his armor, she reached up to rest her hand against him.
"You're looking at me all serious again," he said.
"I have something to tell you," she said.
She rested his large hand over her stomach. "You're going to be a father."
He pulled her into his arms, hugging her tight against his chest. His armor dug into her, but she had long ago gotten used to the brush of metal and pain of armor with every embrace. Every child who grew up with a family of soldiers learned that lesson well.
"Careful now, you brute," she said with affection in her voice.
"He'll be the best soldier around, swinging a sword before he's barely out of the cradle," he said.
"I just wish he was here to hear the news," Rosch said. "Without him, I would've let you slip between my fingers like some idiot—without him, I would've made the worst mistake of my life."
She reached up to stroke his cheek.
"He's going to return. I know it," she said.
"I only wish he wasn't taking so long," he replied.
"And when he does, we'll be sure to have a home for him," she said.
He held her a little tighter. "I knew I loved you for a reason. You always know just what to say."
"And that's the only reason?" Sonja said teasingly.
He gave a mock sigh. "If I started to go on about all the reasons why you're wonderful, we'd be here for months. You'd be attached to my side at work and training. Do you want to stand out in the rain while I make an idiot of myself trying to compose poetry or some other thing I'm no good at just for you?"
"I'd rather hear it in the privacy of my own bedroom," she said.
"Then I'll tell you again: you're wonderful," he said.
He spun her around, and she laughed despite the sadness, despite the hurt in the world, she could still find a spring of joy between them.
*
He'd picked a spot outside the walls of Alistel to build the graves. Rosch insisted on doing it himself, never passing the duties to underlings. She knew he took each loss very hard. Every bit of blood spilled from his Young Lions was like a cut on his own body. The loss of Stocke was like losing another limb.
"That's the last one. I'd say some words, but I never was good with religious speeches," Rosch said.
She had prepared two tinctures and three potions that morning, one for herself and one for the scientist to work longer hours. The last was for him, a pain relieving salve. He always pushed himself too hard.
There wasn't a grave for Stocke, because even then, neither of them could bring themselves to lay Stocke to rest.
*
True to Rosch's prediction, his daughter did start swinging her little wooden toy sword as soon as she could watch. He'd lift her up to his shoulders, carry her off to sit at the side of his desk. More often than not, she'd curl up in his lap, a patchwork quilt wrapped around her small body.
Peace was sudden, but true healing came slowly over the land.
A plate was always set out at the table, a candle left in the window. Find your way back to us.
When she could speak, she asked why?. Why is the sky blue? Why is papa gone so much? Why do we always set out a plate? Why a candle?
Even after she had heard the story, she would look up at him with big green eyes and just a hint of mischief.
He couldn't help but indulge her.
Let me tell you a story of the bravest man I have ever known...
None of them would let the wound close up, or let Stocke be forgotten for a moment. Even if they had to reopen the painful memories again and again, they would take that burden. For no healing could ever be complete until he came back to his family.
Series: Radiant Historia
Character/Pairing: Rosch/Stocke/Sonja-ish
Rating: pg-13
Word count: 1047
Author's note: Mildly diversion from canon in that in that 1) At Journey's End never happened, 2) Rosch and Sonja aren't married yet.
Sonja woke in empty quarters to a persistent ache and feeling of dizziness. She rose to prepare the herbs which would quell the churning within her, lurching forward with that first step. She clung to the rail of the bed and waited for the first wave of nausea to pass. Peace had returned, life went on. But it had come at a terrible price: never would she hear the insistent training of Kiel, Falran and so many others. She would never see a hint of red at a corner, with Stocke outside talking to Rosch.
There was a scientist within the walls who had begun research against the desertification. Conuts and raised hopes growing in the endless span of desert. There were new marriages and new life within her. Her wedding had been postponed for many reasons given: the busyness of reconstruction, the healing. There was one unspoken one known between both of them: because Stocke isn't here, and it wouldn't feel right without him.
*
In the dark of night, her hand rested on Rosch's broad, scarred back. She'd healed a thousand and more wounds of his, and he'd be sure to get many, many more through the years. Every time he went out, she packed tinctures and potions enough to keep him with her a little longer.
"You aren't alone in missing him," she said.
"I never was patient enough. I've put off making a grave for so long, but..." he sighed. "I should lay their souls to rest. I'll make the markers tomorrow."
"Even if you don't believe they're truly gone?"
"He was...words fail me. Everything I could say won't come out right. Life doesn't feel the same without him in it."
"I know," she said, holding him closer. "I feel the same."
*
She'd put off telling him at first. She'd wanted to make sure it wasn't a quick sickness, or anything else to dash his hopes. That morning, half-dressed as she helped assemble his armor, she reached up to rest her hand against him.
"You're looking at me all serious again," he said.
"I have something to tell you," she said.
She rested his large hand over her stomach. "You're going to be a father."
He pulled her into his arms, hugging her tight against his chest. His armor dug into her, but she had long ago gotten used to the brush of metal and pain of armor with every embrace. Every child who grew up with a family of soldiers learned that lesson well.
"Careful now, you brute," she said with affection in her voice.
"He'll be the best soldier around, swinging a sword before he's barely out of the cradle," he said.
"I just wish he was here to hear the news," Rosch said. "Without him, I would've let you slip between my fingers like some idiot—without him, I would've made the worst mistake of my life."
She reached up to stroke his cheek.
"He's going to return. I know it," she said.
"I only wish he wasn't taking so long," he replied.
"And when he does, we'll be sure to have a home for him," she said.
He held her a little tighter. "I knew I loved you for a reason. You always know just what to say."
"And that's the only reason?" Sonja said teasingly.
He gave a mock sigh. "If I started to go on about all the reasons why you're wonderful, we'd be here for months. You'd be attached to my side at work and training. Do you want to stand out in the rain while I make an idiot of myself trying to compose poetry or some other thing I'm no good at just for you?"
"I'd rather hear it in the privacy of my own bedroom," she said.
"Then I'll tell you again: you're wonderful," he said.
He spun her around, and she laughed despite the sadness, despite the hurt in the world, she could still find a spring of joy between them.
*
He'd picked a spot outside the walls of Alistel to build the graves. Rosch insisted on doing it himself, never passing the duties to underlings. She knew he took each loss very hard. Every bit of blood spilled from his Young Lions was like a cut on his own body. The loss of Stocke was like losing another limb.
"That's the last one. I'd say some words, but I never was good with religious speeches," Rosch said.
She had prepared two tinctures and three potions that morning, one for herself and one for the scientist to work longer hours. The last was for him, a pain relieving salve. He always pushed himself too hard.
There wasn't a grave for Stocke, because even then, neither of them could bring themselves to lay Stocke to rest.
*
True to Rosch's prediction, his daughter did start swinging her little wooden toy sword as soon as she could watch. He'd lift her up to his shoulders, carry her off to sit at the side of his desk. More often than not, she'd curl up in his lap, a patchwork quilt wrapped around her small body.
Peace was sudden, but true healing came slowly over the land.
A plate was always set out at the table, a candle left in the window. Find your way back to us.
When she could speak, she asked why?. Why is the sky blue? Why is papa gone so much? Why do we always set out a plate? Why a candle?
Even after she had heard the story, she would look up at him with big green eyes and just a hint of mischief.
He couldn't help but indulge her.
Let me tell you a story of the bravest man I have ever known...
None of them would let the wound close up, or let Stocke be forgotten for a moment. Even if they had to reopen the painful memories again and again, they would take that burden. For no healing could ever be complete until he came back to his family.
