Disclaimer: Warren, Remy, and the X-Men belong to Marvel and are used without permission. Eithne, Taryn, Alex, and Windhaven belong to me. I am not making one red cent from this; so it would be really lame to sue me.
Author's Note: This is a sequel to "Where Shall I Shelter, Where Shall I Sleep?" It is actually the middle story of a trilogy; and the third story will be coming soon (I hope). Again, this takes place in a reality of my own creation. One little note of explanation, Taryn is Eithne's adopted mother, and raised her from infancy.
Feedback is welcomed at akasha@mlec.net.
One more little thing: This one is dedicated to Michele, for getting me in this mess in the first place! :)
The Sound of Letting Go
The full moon hung over Savannah, touching everything with its silver caress. On the grounds of Windhaven, a pale slender hound paced along the gate; awaiting his master's return. A cool breeze drifted through the trees on the plantation grounds, stirring the leaves and rattling the branches. The sound was something akin to whispers, as if the ancient giants were giving up all of their secrets to the young man standing on the attic balcony.
The trees could have indeed told Warren Worthington a thousand stories about the woman he had come to Savannah to mourn. They could have told him of an idyllic childhood; one full of joy and adventure. Of warm summer nights spent lying in the grass, counting the stars. They could have spoken of treehouses and river forts. Of pirate treasures and dead men's tales. Perhaps they would have shared with him stories of long sultry nights when a little girl had spent hours beneath the graceful branches of the willow tree, sharing silly schoolgirl fantasies with Alex. Or of those first hesitant forays into adulthood; when friends became lovers, and lovers became friends.
Or maybe they would have spoken of a crisp autumn night, not so long ago, when the little girl had returned; all grown up. She had come home to share news with her mother; news that she was not certain her mother would want to hear. They could have told Warren of the hesitant conversation, when Eithne had revealed to Taryn that she was in love. That she had fallen in love with a mutant; an X-Man called Archangel. They could have told him of the awkward silence that had followed, of the tears of disappointment that Taryn had shed. They could have spoken of Eithne's flight from the house in tears; her heart broken.
Then perhaps they would have told him of the letter that Taryn had sat down to write two days later; in the dead of night. How she had apologized for her actions, of the love that she had expressed for her daughter. And how she had expressed her deep desire tho come to know this man that her daughter loved; to know and love him as Eithne did.
Oh, the stories they could have shared with him. And perhaps Warren would have listened; listened and been moved. But instead, they merely rustled their leaves; and left the young man alone with his thoughts.
He was thinking, as he so often did these days, of Eithne. More precisely, he was thinking of her death; now more than a month in the past. Warren had spent most of that time in Shalidar, waiting for Eithne to rise from the dead; like some mythical pheonix reborn from the ashes. Looking back on it now, he scolded himself for believing in such fairy tales. But when the woman you loved was the princess of the fairy court, it was hard not to believe.
Even after four and a half weeks, it was still hard for Warren to accept that Eithne was gone. He had never expected to fall in love with her; she was too complicated, too mysterious. He had never imagined spending the rest of his life with Eithne; now he couldn't imagine spending it without her. Eithne had shown him the most amazing things, taught him to see the beauty in the world around him. She was truly amazing, a creature of beauty and light. And yet, she had a dark side; as if she held some intriguing secret that only time would reveal. It was that side of her that had lured Warren to her; like a moth to a flame. And now, Warren was faced with living his life in darkness. Eithne had blown through his life like a warm summer breeze; and left him to face the winter of his soul alone.
Shaking his head wearily, Warren gazed down toward the gate; perhaps hoping for a glimpse of Eithne. He was surprised by Tristan's absence from his post; a post that the dog had held since Eithne's death. Warren shrugged it off; thinking that perhaps the beast had finally come to his senses. Maybe he, like Warren, had come to accept thr fact that Eithne was gone forever; she was not coming home. The wind began to pick up, stirring a red silk scarf that Warren had held tightly in his grip. Eithne had created it years ago in New Orleans; created it from firelight and shadows. She had given it to Remy when he had fled the city of his birth; to remind him of her undying devotion to him and the friendship that they shared. And Remy, who had cherished it for years; had only recently, and rather reluctantly, given it to Warren. Once, it had been warm to the touch; lit from within by an almost imperceptable glow. It was as if it had possessed a life of its own. But now, with Eithne's passing, it had grown cold and dull; no more than a ragged swath of torn silk. It was as devoid of life and warmth as Warren now felt. Turning to go inside, he let the scarf slip from his fingers; as if in that one simple act he had let go of Eithne and everything that they had shared.
The wind, stronger now, caught the scarf; wafting it gently to the ground at the base of the ancient willow tree. From out of the shadows a pale, delicate arm reached out to retrieve the fallen treasure. Lifting it to her lips, she brushed it with a kiss; a single tear sliding down her cheek. From somewhere in the darkness, a hound's howl rose up into the night; welcoming his master home at last.