Fanfic:Requiem

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Requiem
Author(s)
  • Saraid Mahara (player)
Character(s)
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A bolt of power leapt from the young woman's fingers to the pyre which flared as flames blossomed, biting and hiding the complicated construct of wood and fabric. A tear, which could be blamed on either sorrow or the smoke from the fire, trickled down the woman's cheek.


The dark haired girl played with a stick, holding it spear-like and stabbing at the man with whom she mock-fought. They were laughing, and he dodged her attempts to knock him easily. The girl began attacking him, pushing him backwards and forcing him to give ground to her. Then, as he moved backwards more quickly to escape, he stumbled and sprawled on the sandy ground. The girl laughed triumphantly and then put one foot on her companion's chest as though she was victorious in conquering a long-standing enemy. "You're down, Lyam." The thirty-nine year old man on the ground smiled in answer and then turned the tables on his captor. The girl sat in the dust, her stick thrown a little to the side, scowling at Lyam who grinned at her. "That's not fair." "Oh but it is . . ." he told her. "Ye need learn that ye can't relax until yer enemy is trussed up like a desert-grouse or dead. Yer opponent could be twice the fighter that ye are an' by a stroke of sheer luck ye have downed him or her. Yer opponent will look for every opportunity to gain the upper hand an' escape." He smiled at her, ruffling her dark curls. "Come on then," he took her hands at pulled her to a standing position. "If I don't get us home soon, yer mother will be wondering what's happened to her girl." "I'm not little," the green-eyed would-be warrioress told him defiantly. "I'm old enough to not wear braids or a short skirt for much longer." She brushed away a loose curl and looked at her companion. "True enough, and ye could be wearing a cadin'sor soon enough. I keep forgetting how old ye are, Saraid. Eight sometimes seems old an' sometimes seems young." Lyam patted Saraid on the shoulder. "Now, brave for ye mother. She needs ye to be strong since yer pa's so sick an' all." He patted her again, not knowing how to tell her that her father was dying.

The warrior dropped the spears she carried with a little cry of horror at the blood that had decorated her wrist. The pain in her arm was throbbing and she had not realised that she had been wounded in the fight. A roaring sound was in her ears and she took another step uncertainly before tripping and landing on all fours. "Be brave, lass," a gruff voice told her. It was Lyam at her side. He was tearing up a shirt into broad strips for bandages. "It isn't very serious, just painful an' worse-looking than it is. Brave girl," he mumured as he cut off her sleeve with his dagger and threw the bloodied piece of cloth away. He frowned as he opened a flask of water, looking at her eyes. "Ye're shocky, lass . . ." The cold water splashing onto her wound cleared Saraid's mind with a start and she pulled away. "Hush now, an' come back here. How can I fix ye if ye run away?" Lyam folded a section of cloth and placed it over her injury, then he snatched up a length of bandage and wrapped it firmly around the cloth and her arm. "There now, ye're a brave lass for fourteen." He helped her up. "Let's be seeing Illiandra about getting it properly fixed." Saraid scowled blackly and then flicked a look at her old friend. He walked along carrying his and her spears. Dissatisfied in some unknown way, she said "those old goats couldn't help me." Lyam cuffed her lightly, wary of her shock and pain at being wounded seriously for the first time. "They'll be able to help ye." "Goats," she muttered rebelliously.

Tiya cuddled her baby gently, kissing the top of his head. She smiled at her friend and then wrinkled her nose. "Oh dear . . ." Tiya thrust the little one into Saraid's arms. Saraid froze. She knew nothing about babies, and was sure she would drop the little thing. Tiya sighed and placed Saraid's arms around the baby more firmly. "I'll be back in a moment." Saraid nodded, and the patted the baby's back gently. The little thing screwed up his face and went pink. Alarmed, Saraid cooed to him and then bounced him a little in her arms as she'd seen Tiya do before. The baby's face turned red and he let loose an almighty wail. "What did I do?" she cried out, holding the baby at arm's length for a moment before bringing it back close to her and cuddling it a little, trying to quiet its distress. Tiya came back into the room from outside and grinned at Saraid's discomfort. "I only bounced him a little!" Saraid told her, stricken. The other woman replied, "he's probably wet. Think how uncomfortable you'd feel in that state. Lay him here, then," she patted a side table that was set with a cloth. "You can change him for me since I haven't finished up with Naidha." Tiya handed Saraid a few nappies and then left her alone but for the baby again. Saraid looked at the baby and then shrugged. How hard could it be? she thought as she untied the little one's nappy. Unfortunately, he was more than just wet. A breath-choking smell rose up from the soiled nappy and Saraid grimaced, pulling at the corner of the nappy. Lyam stood beside her. "Take the corner of the nappy an' wipe him down with it." She looked at him pleadingly. He shook his head and knelt next to her. "Lift his ankles to do it . . . and get rid of as much as you can. Fold the dirty nappy and put it aside." He smiled at her. "That's it, ye're getting it." Then he handed her a dampened nappy. "Wipe him over with that one . . ." He nodded kindly, his old eyes sparkling with amusement. He handed Saraid a new nappy, a clean one, and nodded at her again. "Fold it in a half to make a triangle, lass." He smiled at the baby. "Where did you learn this?" Saraid was surprised that her companion knew all this stuff. Lyam continued to direct her; "where?" she asked again. "I was the oldest of my family, and had three other cousins after me . . . I often was given to watch and care for them when the adults left for meetings and such . . ." came the calm answer. "Then there was yer family. After my leg was done in, I couldn't fight any more. So I offered to help people. Yer family - what with yer parents being high in the hold hierarchy, an' all - took me up on my offer. I've looked after ye since ye were knee high to a grasshopper." Lyam winked and measured that height with a free hand. Saraid rolled her eyes at this. As if her now 5'8" frame could ever have been as small as Lyam suggested. "Tie a knot - a firm one. There, that's a good job. Poor mite, feel better now, no?" Saraid watched Lyam tickle the baby's stomach and then bit her lip. She felt a little sad, and a little odd. Lyam looked at her, "don't be saying ye should be finding me a wife t'marry and have children with. I've raised ye, and I've no complaints of my life."

Saraid hugged the gruff man who had raised her. She had known there would be a time when Lyam would not be around for her as much as he had been, she just had not been prepared for it to be so soon. "Sharra will tan our hides if I keep you much longer," she embraced him one more time and then smiled at him bravely. She had not been prepared for two things to separate them. She could channel, and that was a gift of the Light, but it parted her from her beloved friend who had been like a father to her all her life; and Lyam had met Sharra, the shade of his heart. She had not been able to see Lyam, grizzled and grey from life's hardships at forty-seven, as a man who could fall in love. Or rather, she had, but she had not thought he would really fall in love and leave her. Saraid knew that she had to let go, because his life would not let him accompany her, and her new life beckoned, glittering with promise. The Grey Tower awaited.


A second tear followed the first as Saraid said goodbye to the man who had been closer than her mother or her father ever had been, her whole life. She had experienced the first true years of her life with this old friend and in her memory he was young and whole, immortalised as only memory could do so. She could not reconcile with the father-figure and friend of her memories the still body that as even at that moment consumed with flame.