Author Games Compilation [Cycle 1]

Task 7 - Remembering the Fallen (CC)

A/N: Posting early for any feedback you may have! The outline I had for this was very different...and a lot has already been cut, so if there's anything extraneous you think should go, please let me know.

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What struck Corradhin as odd, maybe even a miracle, was the fact that he hadn't woken up to his own screams in a sweaty pallor for the first time in exactly one year. He tugged the warmth of the sleeping bag around his body, ceasing his shivers as he slowly let his eyes flick open, one by one. It was far easier to accept morning when his eyes weren't burning as though hot coals were being placed upon them; it was far easier to tell himself he'd have to get up soon when exhaustion didn't weigh down on his aching bones.

This was new, but for once, he was content to welcome the change. As soon as he saw the gloom in the sky, a stretched blanket of lacy gray, he knew he'd been dreaming of the encounter with Beckett. He didn't know why disappointment buried itself in his veins the way it did, but it brought a faint pain along with it. Nothing physical, but he swore the ache in his bones that had vanished instead transformed into something worse. Energy can't be created or destroyed. So maybe the same applies here. The soreness is gone, but now I just...I don't know, but there's something here. The sigh that left his lips was accompanied by a cloud of mist. Strange, he thought, it's been an oven since I got here, and now they decide to cool it down. Shrugging, he pushed himself to a sit. He was grateful, as he'd much prefer to be sculpted from ice than spread to the wind in ash.

The lack of a body beside him served loneliness on a silver platter. Not even the birds were chirping. All he had was the brush of leaves in the breeze, the glide of petals bumping into one another. Corradhin's gaze fell on the bushes of henbane surrounding him. The expectation of anger wasn't fulfilled, but instead something cozy took its place...as if the deadly flower were there to protect him. Something about the way they waved at him set him off comfortably. The veins weren't seen as disease, but the pulse of blood; life flowing from the core to the outermost edges.

Something so beautiful managed to cause him utmost pain. Not even just from ingesting it - fever and stomach pains had come for him, yes, but he also remembered these flowers as the gift he'd set upon Beckett's grave each day. The pile only grew as time passed, as no one came to take care of the grounds. The dead were dead, everyone would say, they wouldn't care. Yes, but you've gotta think of the living. Seeing everything in ruins...it'll only make matters worse. Corradhin had every right to that conviction - he clenched his fists just thinking of the dried out grass, the crumbling tombstones. Drought surely hadn't helped and he'd been the only one with a mind enough to preserve the graves of Four's last tributes.

Frequently he'd catch sight of a girl, a girl all too familiar hustling through the gates as soon as he'd left. Had you layered her stormy greys over the electric blues of a past tribute, you'd see they were near identical. And the memory of such silent moments sent pictures of his allies running through his mind. And with it, longing.

With a grunt, he hauled himself up, and neatly folded up the only thing he had left at this point, his sleeping bag. The scent that'd triggered his bittersweet dreams still lingered, but it was faint, and he feared not even suffocating himself with the fabric would take him back to such a wonderful place.

As he took stock of the funeral flowers, he couldn't help but let his mind drift back to the dream. It was all a haze, but a few key moments stuck out, moments he couldn't just ignore. The first half...it had all felt so real. And it had been, only a couple years before. Beckett never remembered the kiss, as he was intoxicated and battered, and never again did they come together like that again. Everything went back to how it'd been before. However, some part of Corradhin had always remained hopeful that one day he'd just remember, finally come back and mend their terms.