Shahrazad - SN fic - PG13
Oct. 19th, 2006 10:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tigriswolfTitle: Shahrazad
Fandom: SN
Disclaimer: not my characters. just for fun.
Warnings: none
Pairings: um... *shrugs*
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: I'm rounding up to 600
Point of view: third
Notes: I have no idea who the narrator is. Dedicated tobluesister
Fandom: SN
Disclaimer: not my characters. just for fun.
Warnings: none
Pairings: um... *shrugs*
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: I'm rounding up to 600
Point of view: third
Notes: I have no idea who the narrator is. Dedicated to
bluesister
She remembers and sometimes she speaks. She whispers their story into the night air for only the stars to hear because no one else listens. No one wants to know. Her voice is faint against the harsh noise of the world, but still she continues, hoping perhaps someone else will pick up the tale.
They deserve better than to fade into the mists of time, as if they’d never been. They deserve to be remembered by more than her. They deserve memorial.
She can see them as she watches the sky, her voice rising and falling with the tale. She can see them, beautiful and strong, back to back, against the darkness. She can see them easily—they seem more real than the world around her. They stride across her memory and her voice grows stronger, singing the words for the moon’s ears.
They deserve legends and epic poems, for children to speak their names with awe. They deserve a funeral, for the world to notice they are gone. But only she does. Only she knows their names. Only she remembers their faces and their souls. Only she knows what their smiles masked and how their eyes glowed with joy after they survived another battle.
All their lives they were soldiers, warriors, hunters. They grew on the frontlines, never away from the danger. They cut their eyeteeth on death and lost their innocence in blood-soaked ruin.
She remembers their eyes, nearly identical, the only physical, substantial marker of their brotherhood. Dark green to gray, their eyes shifted with their smiles and laughter and silence in the joy of being alive. And she remembers their eyes full of anger, full of fear, full of jealousy and hurt.
She saw more because she looked. She watched and she noticed and she remembers. All of the world has forgotten them but she still tells their story. She whispers and the trees whisper back, repeating her words. The wind sighs and a soft touch settles on her cheek, a feathery kiss.
“I remember,” she says, and the sun sets the far east on fire as it rises. The breeze ruffles her hair and she adds, “I’ll tell your story until my voice fails. It’s all that’s left for me to do.” Gentle laughter sounds in the air and she says, “Go home, Sam. Return to that hunting-ground in the sky. He needs you, even now. Always more than I did.”
One more kiss, this time pressed to her lips, and a large hand cups the back of her head. Words murmur into her mouths—I love you.
“I know,” she answers and lets go. The light bathes her and she knows she is alone.
They deserve more than a forgotten life. They deserve more than she, a worthless Shahrazad, whispering their fight to the deaf moon. They deserve banquets and songs and statues for their honor. They deserve the world to praise them. And all they have is her.
“This is not how it ends,” she murmurs, thinking back. “They live forever because they exist now only in dreams. And dreams have no ending. They play on after the sleeper wakes, and they never stop.” She smiles at the sky and settles back against the ground.
“They stride down the paths of Valhalla, warriors and hunters. They are beyond pain, finally. Together.” Her laughter fills the clearing and the sun shines, seeping beneath her skin and warming her bones.
She remembers and she speaks. She won’t stop until the words fail and she has no voice left.
They deserve better than to fade into the mists of time, as if they’d never been. They deserve to be remembered by more than her. They deserve memorial.
She can see them as she watches the sky, her voice rising and falling with the tale. She can see them, beautiful and strong, back to back, against the darkness. She can see them easily—they seem more real than the world around her. They stride across her memory and her voice grows stronger, singing the words for the moon’s ears.
They deserve legends and epic poems, for children to speak their names with awe. They deserve a funeral, for the world to notice they are gone. But only she does. Only she knows their names. Only she remembers their faces and their souls. Only she knows what their smiles masked and how their eyes glowed with joy after they survived another battle.
All their lives they were soldiers, warriors, hunters. They grew on the frontlines, never away from the danger. They cut their eyeteeth on death and lost their innocence in blood-soaked ruin.
She remembers their eyes, nearly identical, the only physical, substantial marker of their brotherhood. Dark green to gray, their eyes shifted with their smiles and laughter and silence in the joy of being alive. And she remembers their eyes full of anger, full of fear, full of jealousy and hurt.
She saw more because she looked. She watched and she noticed and she remembers. All of the world has forgotten them but she still tells their story. She whispers and the trees whisper back, repeating her words. The wind sighs and a soft touch settles on her cheek, a feathery kiss.
“I remember,” she says, and the sun sets the far east on fire as it rises. The breeze ruffles her hair and she adds, “I’ll tell your story until my voice fails. It’s all that’s left for me to do.” Gentle laughter sounds in the air and she says, “Go home, Sam. Return to that hunting-ground in the sky. He needs you, even now. Always more than I did.”
One more kiss, this time pressed to her lips, and a large hand cups the back of her head. Words murmur into her mouths—I love you.
“I know,” she answers and lets go. The light bathes her and she knows she is alone.
They deserve more than a forgotten life. They deserve more than she, a worthless Shahrazad, whispering their fight to the deaf moon. They deserve banquets and songs and statues for their honor. They deserve the world to praise them. And all they have is her.
“This is not how it ends,” she murmurs, thinking back. “They live forever because they exist now only in dreams. And dreams have no ending. They play on after the sleeper wakes, and they never stop.” She smiles at the sky and settles back against the ground.
“They stride down the paths of Valhalla, warriors and hunters. They are beyond pain, finally. Together.” Her laughter fills the clearing and the sun shines, seeping beneath her skin and warming her bones.
She remembers and she speaks. She won’t stop until the words fail and she has no voice left.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-27 02:11 am (UTC)And WHY are none of your stories turning up on my flist?! ARGH!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-07-27 04:02 am (UTC)Thank you!