Post-war
Some quick writing, because yes.
Aya watched the rain streak the windows of the library in silence. The campus was far from empty, but the tense, dangerous energy that had filled the world has exhaled into the void and left the kind of quiet reserved for licking wounds and rebuilding broken lives. The threat had passed, but with it went the electricity that had allowed her to focus, to think clearly. So now her mind once again echoed the place she had been, and allowed shadows that had receded to grow and populate with new horrors.
The future was a tenebrous thing to the wyr, much like the past. She had no plans to make, no dreams to pursue. It was not a lack of hope, she held that dearly for Tertia to come back more completely, but rather a lack of desire for whatever might come next. She placed a hand on the window and watched it fog around her fingers, feeling the warmth drain from her hand to leak into glass. She wondered why Soft Paw had encouraged her to make friends. She had, and felt invested, felt secure and solid for the first time since her memory failed her, but in the end they had abandoned her. Lorelaith, Shard, Bashir...Bashir. She slips to her feet and wanders through the hollow halls of books, not really thinking on where she would end up. Emrys was gone, his office empty of all but ghosts. Nehlennia was engaged, she would start a new pack, move away. She had many more to take care of, many more deserving than a broken foundling. Narra had her children back, and oh how Aya both pitied and envied them all. For all the school, so full of people, of heroes, had promised, the war had still robbed her of what she held dear. But unlike others, it had the audacity to fill her empty plate before wiping it bare once again.
She felt numb when she found Ragnhall and Tertia talking in one of the studies, and without thought she entered and curled up against the Headmasters side. She felt his warmth, listened to the rolling of his voice as he spoke in gentle tones to Caelia. She could smell Tertia's tea, feel the nervous tapping of her fingers on the cup. The threatening shadows of hurt and longing ebbed away in the slightly fractured song of her 'family' doing its best to remember itself. As long as there was this, there could be a tomorrow. As long as the school stood, there could be a home for her. She would hold onto these things with both hands, and pray that time was no longer the blade on a slender thread, but an ally, giving what was needed for them all to heal.
~~~
Did she really just say that? She couldn't have just said that. Yes, no mistaking she had just instructed her mother that if she didn't like how she had chosen to wear her hair on her wedding day, she could go ride a pig side saddle. It was hard to tell if the reason Roslin was having difficulty breathing through hysterical laughter was at her mother's expense or at the fact now Ledda was hyperventilating into Siobhan's handkerchief (whom, for the record, was also having a jolly laugh at some or all of it). Eventually the blind panic of standing up to the well meaning if militant woman finally cut her last string of restraint and she too, burst into laughter. How ridiculous was all of this? The world nearly ended to the ultimate of all villainy and she was still petrified of a corsage and wine wielding mother of the bride. She laughed until tears slid down her face, mirth fueled by the release of months of guilt over finding joy amidst the ashes of a world at war. She had meant it when she told Eoghan that her time with the heroes had been the best of her life, that they had given her purpose and strength. What she hadn't told him was that the love she bore him, and his siblings, had given her a pillar of resilience as she did her best to comfort the fracturing faculty as their loads became more than they ever had planned or deserved to bear. People like Idri, Rose and Sera had given her a solid place so that she could be there for others who could not afford to seek asylum themselves. All of her inner turmoil about propriety, feeling trivial, and finding a personal bloom amongst a sea of thorns, all washed out and away with her laughter.
Heaving sighs later, composure settled once again within the bridal party as the last touches we applied before the ceremony. Ledda requested Ciara's aid to secure the small red bag close to her heart without doing the lovely dress Rai had designed any undue harm, and in turn helped each MacMorgrian woman (current and pending, she had winked at Kiva,) don her gifts to them- brooches featuring an owl clutching a snake in its talons. Lastly, the women raised a glass to everyone who would not ever see such a day because of what the war had stolen, and to everyone who would because of what the heroes had given. Ledda would not forget the loss that rode hand in hand with her joy, but never would she dishonor it with a life time of mourning. With that promise close to her heart, she and her new sisters stepped out into the cool autumn and down the aisle.