Post by mercifulheavens on Nov 22, 2008 2:03:33 GMT -5
Disclaimer- I do not own Requiem, Robert Louis Stevenson does...
Requiem
+13
Silence echoed through the room as though its occupants had suddenly lost the ability to speak. The wind that rustled the curtains whispered the unsaid feelings of grief. A soft snap coming from the whipping tangled curtains broke the silence but did nothing to the emptiness of the room.
The bedroom was simple; a bed, a desk and a single dresser. Two silent people were in the room, finishing the simplicity by the humble way they commanded respect, even alone.
“You’ll have to be leaving soon.” The man in the bed whispered. His chest rose slowly to take in the life continuing air. “You can not stay here.” The woman he was speaking to said nothing. She simply stood beside the bed and stared down at the heavy hand that she grasped in her own pale hands.
“They will not come.” She said simply, not even looking up. “I will not let you die alone.” A lone tear stained a wet streak down her un-naturally pale cheek. The man smiled and sighed.
“I knew you would never leave me, Tabby.” He said softly, weak confidence lacing his words. The woman’s facial expressions did not change as the man’s did. Although he took great joy and peace from her decision to remain; she herself found it harder than any other task her had ever done. Watching her husband die was not something she wanted to do; yet it was something she had to do. Because she loved him.
The man sighed deeply as he watched his wife’s tear drip down her face. He had never seen her cry before. Although once he had told her it was all right to cry around him; she had not taken his advice as she usually did. No, he though sadly, she hated to cause me grief. Seeing the tear that she shed for him now brought him more joy than grief. The truth that his wife was willing to sit by his side to the end was comfortingly restful.
“I love you, Minerva.” The man says finally, smiling. His wife said nothing.
Time passes slowly as though it was holding back the inevitable. Finally Albus felt the pain he had had since lying down subside. Soon it would be over. The greatest wizard since Merlin, himself, would join the honored dead.
“This is the end, Tabby.” He whispered. Minerva nodded nonchalantly. Albus reached out his hand that his wife did not hold and stroked her cheek. She pressed her face closer to its comforting palm. Suddenly the hand became limp and it fell to hang over the side of the bed.
Minerva said nothing as she picked the dangling arm up from the bed and rearranged it. Soon she had her dying husband arranged with great dignity. With a finishing gesture of straightening his pillow, Minerva sunk down to the floor’s cold stone.
Shock registered on her white face as she sat. No tears betrayed her grief as no sobs wracked her small frame. Even in the presence of great distress, Minerva would not allow herself the merciless relief of giving into her grief. It was not a weakness to cry; yet her did not view it as a strength either.
Gripping the edge of the bed sheet, she pulled herself up into a standing position. Her eyes misted slightly at the sight of her husband, but no tears formed.
Minerva drew a vial from her robe’s pocket and gently removed its topper. Its potent contents quickly filled the room with a pungent odor. Ignoring its fumes, she set it down on the bed frame’s wooden edge. Reaching back into her pocket, her retrieved a small knife, barely longer than four inches.
Taking a deep breath for self-control, Minerva brought the knife over her left hand. With a quick slashing action, she cut into her palm. Although pain tried to make its way to her brain, it was ignored by the numbness that she felt. Several drops of her blood dripped to the floor as she picked the vial back up.
Placing her bleeding hand over its top, she watched five red droplets hang in mid air for a split second and then melt into the vial’s contents. A hiss echoed from the vial and a thin trail of steam escaped the top.
“Under the wide and starry sky
Dig the grave and let me die:
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with will.
This be the verse you grave for me:
Here he lies where he long’d to be;
Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.”
Minerva smiled as she finished murmuring the poem and opened her husband’s mouth. The potion easily trickled into the wizard’s mouth and down his throat. The sound of breaking glass resounded through the room as Minerva dropped the vial. Her strength was already waning, even as Albus’ was waxing. She slowly began to sink to the floor as she watched the colour return to his ashen face. His eyes flickered open as hers closed. Darkness consumed her as light flooded his senses.
Albus opened his eyes and took a deep breath. He felt as though he had just awoke from a good night sleep. Stretching and sitting up, he looked around the familiar room. It was then that he noticed the crumpled body of his wife. Scrambling out of the bed, Albus gathered Minerva into his arms. She was barely breathing and blood was pooling on the floor from her mouth and nose. Her ebony coloured hair had fallen loose from its confines, creating a scene that Achilles himself would have compared it to the death of Penthesilea, the Amazon queen.
Tears slipped down Albus’ face as he saw the broken vial. Instantly he knew what his fearless wife had done for him. She had traded her life force to him for his; only she would die slower as she had been healthier than he had been on his deathbed. Death seemed to fight for her life as her temperature flared and dropped in violent bursts.
“Why did you do this, my dear?” Albus whispered, sobbing. Minerva’s eyes fluttered open and she opened her mouth.
“They need you.” She sighed softly. Albus shook his head.
“I was suppose to die, Minerva. Not you.” She smiled.
“Defeat. Voldemort.” She whispered, ironically calling the dark lord a name she had rarely even thought.
Albus nodded. “You are not going to let you die, my dear.” His words went unheard, as his wife had already disobeyed her final order.
Requiem
+13
Silence echoed through the room as though its occupants had suddenly lost the ability to speak. The wind that rustled the curtains whispered the unsaid feelings of grief. A soft snap coming from the whipping tangled curtains broke the silence but did nothing to the emptiness of the room.
The bedroom was simple; a bed, a desk and a single dresser. Two silent people were in the room, finishing the simplicity by the humble way they commanded respect, even alone.
“You’ll have to be leaving soon.” The man in the bed whispered. His chest rose slowly to take in the life continuing air. “You can not stay here.” The woman he was speaking to said nothing. She simply stood beside the bed and stared down at the heavy hand that she grasped in her own pale hands.
“They will not come.” She said simply, not even looking up. “I will not let you die alone.” A lone tear stained a wet streak down her un-naturally pale cheek. The man smiled and sighed.
“I knew you would never leave me, Tabby.” He said softly, weak confidence lacing his words. The woman’s facial expressions did not change as the man’s did. Although he took great joy and peace from her decision to remain; she herself found it harder than any other task her had ever done. Watching her husband die was not something she wanted to do; yet it was something she had to do. Because she loved him.
The man sighed deeply as he watched his wife’s tear drip down her face. He had never seen her cry before. Although once he had told her it was all right to cry around him; she had not taken his advice as she usually did. No, he though sadly, she hated to cause me grief. Seeing the tear that she shed for him now brought him more joy than grief. The truth that his wife was willing to sit by his side to the end was comfortingly restful.
“I love you, Minerva.” The man says finally, smiling. His wife said nothing.
Time passes slowly as though it was holding back the inevitable. Finally Albus felt the pain he had had since lying down subside. Soon it would be over. The greatest wizard since Merlin, himself, would join the honored dead.
“This is the end, Tabby.” He whispered. Minerva nodded nonchalantly. Albus reached out his hand that his wife did not hold and stroked her cheek. She pressed her face closer to its comforting palm. Suddenly the hand became limp and it fell to hang over the side of the bed.
Minerva said nothing as she picked the dangling arm up from the bed and rearranged it. Soon she had her dying husband arranged with great dignity. With a finishing gesture of straightening his pillow, Minerva sunk down to the floor’s cold stone.
Shock registered on her white face as she sat. No tears betrayed her grief as no sobs wracked her small frame. Even in the presence of great distress, Minerva would not allow herself the merciless relief of giving into her grief. It was not a weakness to cry; yet her did not view it as a strength either.
Gripping the edge of the bed sheet, she pulled herself up into a standing position. Her eyes misted slightly at the sight of her husband, but no tears formed.
Minerva drew a vial from her robe’s pocket and gently removed its topper. Its potent contents quickly filled the room with a pungent odor. Ignoring its fumes, she set it down on the bed frame’s wooden edge. Reaching back into her pocket, her retrieved a small knife, barely longer than four inches.
Taking a deep breath for self-control, Minerva brought the knife over her left hand. With a quick slashing action, she cut into her palm. Although pain tried to make its way to her brain, it was ignored by the numbness that she felt. Several drops of her blood dripped to the floor as she picked the vial back up.
Placing her bleeding hand over its top, she watched five red droplets hang in mid air for a split second and then melt into the vial’s contents. A hiss echoed from the vial and a thin trail of steam escaped the top.
“Under the wide and starry sky
Dig the grave and let me die:
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with will.
This be the verse you grave for me:
Here he lies where he long’d to be;
Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.”
Minerva smiled as she finished murmuring the poem and opened her husband’s mouth. The potion easily trickled into the wizard’s mouth and down his throat. The sound of breaking glass resounded through the room as Minerva dropped the vial. Her strength was already waning, even as Albus’ was waxing. She slowly began to sink to the floor as she watched the colour return to his ashen face. His eyes flickered open as hers closed. Darkness consumed her as light flooded his senses.
Albus opened his eyes and took a deep breath. He felt as though he had just awoke from a good night sleep. Stretching and sitting up, he looked around the familiar room. It was then that he noticed the crumpled body of his wife. Scrambling out of the bed, Albus gathered Minerva into his arms. She was barely breathing and blood was pooling on the floor from her mouth and nose. Her ebony coloured hair had fallen loose from its confines, creating a scene that Achilles himself would have compared it to the death of Penthesilea, the Amazon queen.
Tears slipped down Albus’ face as he saw the broken vial. Instantly he knew what his fearless wife had done for him. She had traded her life force to him for his; only she would die slower as she had been healthier than he had been on his deathbed. Death seemed to fight for her life as her temperature flared and dropped in violent bursts.
“Why did you do this, my dear?” Albus whispered, sobbing. Minerva’s eyes fluttered open and she opened her mouth.
“They need you.” She sighed softly. Albus shook his head.
“I was suppose to die, Minerva. Not you.” She smiled.
“Defeat. Voldemort.” She whispered, ironically calling the dark lord a name she had rarely even thought.
Albus nodded. “You are not going to let you die, my dear.” His words went unheard, as his wife had already disobeyed her final order.
