The Silence And The Fog

It's been... quiet since their return from Grandfather's home. Not the comfortable silence of those that are at ease with one another, but rather a fraught one. Filled with unspoken words and meanings that leave the house feeling like it is full of unseen things. Every motion of cloth is the rustle of a ghost of unspoken emotion. Every shift of a dish clatters with uncertainty.

Auranar hasn't spoken since her declaration of love, not a word. She sits in a well of silence, her dark eyes staring at nothing. No silent offering of food or tea has tempted her to open her lips. Not even Hunter in his endless search for play has managed to bring a smile to her black eyes. Even now she sits in her chair more like a doll than like a person, as if life has fled her though her heart beats on and her breath still causes her chest to rise and fall.

It is far from a return to normalcy... if recent times could even be considered so. There were necessities and routines since: meals, tea, housekeeping, providing lap for the mighty Hunter, yet even those have seemed more rote than relaxing. Scattered throughout, there have been many glances from Verna; some of concern, some thoughtful, some seeking to catch Auranar's eyes in some unspoken inquiry. Unspoken due a search for the proper or most appropriate words. She has no doubts that much should be or need be said, it is just a matter of how.

She brings out a tray with their cups, fresh tea, and cookies, setting it on the table near the chairs before settling into her own chair. Well, sitting at the least, and rather upright even for her. "Auranar... " So many questions or comments possible. "Shall I pour you a cup?"

The wild elf glances toward the tea, the plate of cookies, but not Verna herself. Dark eyes slide away and she doesn't in the end respond, not with a shrug or nod, not even with a spark of interest.

The lack of Auranar's usual expressive self is concerning. Her lack of interest is worrisome. Her lack of even acknowledgement or contact is... terrifying. For all of Verna's recent fears of Auranar's potential absence in her life, this is ... worse? She is present, but not?

Verna's expression wavers between various frowns, as it has as much difficult in deciding as she attempts to mull over words. "Love. Dearest. I do not know what is wrong, nor whether I can aid you... but I would try all the same." A hand reaches for her, though stops awkwardly short on the arm of the chair. "Please, share what is on your mind?"

It's not getting any easier for either of them really. Auranar sits there, her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes on the wall as if it holds any interest. It does not. Verna's voice echoes in the silence, but it doesn't prompt the response that she's hoping for. Which really at this point is... anything. A tear drifts down Auranar's face, and this is not an uncommon thing since their return home. It's as though her eyes are leaking and she can not stop them.

Their world is a cup full to the brim with Auranar's tears, a trembling shining line stuffed to the breaking point.

Any response would be better than none, Verna would agree. She nearly reneges on this certainty when the tear falls, though it also prompts action. With possibly no conscious thought, she shifts nearer as her hand lifts from the chair arm to lightly brush away at the tear.

In hindsight, and the same line of thought that some reaction is preferably to none, so is doing something rather than nothing. Even if it might be the wrong thing. "I am here," she notes softly. Assistance? Assurance? Reminder? Plea? Perhaps all of the above?

This time, unlike the last time, the first tear is followed by a second, and then a third. At first Auranar doesn't react to them, doesn't even seem to notice that they're falling down her cheeks like spring rain. Then she turns herself into her chair and... just weeps. She doesn't cry loudly, no... This is a muffled thing. The sort of crying that one learns from a childhood where crying is a thing mocked, or painful. She moves so little, makes such little noise, that it could almost be ignored really. But they're all alone.

For a moment, Verna's hand freezes, caught in a moment of indecision between aghast that she has poked a hole and unleashed a flood ... and the fleeting urge of flailing attempt to somehow catch the deluge. To say nothing of numerous lines of thoughts on words spiraling off on one-way trips to oblivion.

Some part decides that those thoughts are best left there, and that energy spared. Her hand shifts to Auranar's far shoulder to rest there. It is more than a simple touch yet not a full, much less greedy, embrace: an affirmation of her previous words without interference nor judgment of her love's crying.

Maybe it was required, maybe it was needed, this is day of silence. These tears now. It's hard to say. Time passes in the silence of Auranar's mourning. No explanation given nor asked for. No pressure to speak, no pressure to stop. So it doesn't. Not for a long time. In the end she finds her way out of it. Wiping her face clear of her tears and yet... The silence manages to cling to her. She is out of words to express herself; explain herself. Her head lolls against the chair and she stares off into the darkness.

Mourning. Perhaps Verna recognized it as such, or similar enough, at some level. This does not improve matters, per se, though does give her some base from which to frame and act. Auranar will speak when she is ready to; Verna cannot force otherwise, even if she prefers sooner over later. Her preference is not what is best for her wife.

After the silence settles anew, she shifts some again. Despite having previously proven capable of staring at pages in near-silence and near-motionless for hours, she currently shows little patience for remaining still. Fingers start to comb at pink-tipped dark locks in a familiar habit. Whether the action is to soothe Auranar, make Verna feel productive, or some combination thereof is entirely open to interpretation.

Eventually, Auranar relaxes into Verna's touch. By millimeters and by inches. The occasional tear haunts her cheeks and she's quick to rub them away. Finally, after what seems like a painful eternity Aurnanar finds her words. Though, they aren't very helpful. "I don't know what to say."

"You need not know," Verna assures softly, her casual affections continuing, "nor need say anything, at all times." A pause follows before she admits, "A truth that I yet struggle to be comfortable with."

"I wanted to help. Just once." Auranar admits. Her eyes welling up with tears. "Everything was so hopeless. Cor'lana and Telamon were _hurting_ one another. Grandfather... And... I couldn't fix it. I was useless. Again. Always."

She can't stop her tears from falling. "What's the point Verna? I can't protect myself. I might as well run away into the woods and leave you all behind like I meant to."

Verna's eyes widen in surprise. Of all the many reasons she could fathom for Auranar to be upset, that was not among them. "No!" The word is still quiet, but the tone is firm. "-You- rescued Grandfather. -You- saved him. -You- took action..."

"As well, Cor'lana and Telamon ..." a pause to rapidly consider "they grasped at chance from sorrow. I lashed out in anger. You took action for love, Dearest."

"I didn't do anything!" Auranar says harshly, her eyes suddenly flashing with anger. It might be better than her despondency, but not by much. Not with the way it rushes back in like the sea trying to fill a hole in the beach. "He gave me the cure. Because he knows. I'm the weak link Verna. It's me. He'll use me to hurt you. Just like Jal'gorath. Just like the werewolves. It's always going to be me dragging us all down."

That fire is certainly more the Auranar that Verna knows and loves. It -is- better... though Verna would still much prefer the energy in the form of her smile or laughter. "No." Now at normal volume, the word is firm, yet even, as are those that follow. "I love you. That others use that against me does not make you weak. It is -my- weakness, Aura. You are at risk because of -me- and my actions. It is no different for Cor'lana and Telamon, between themselves or between they and either of us."

Auranar purses her lips, her eyes turning away again as she struggles to find the words she wants. "You think it's you Verna, but it's not. If I were gone... you could do what you needed to do." She closes her eyes. Trying not to cry and failing. "He should have let me go."

Verna watches her turn away. She might be able to see eyes close. She may well notices the tears. In a more indirect mirroring than is the norm, her own lips purse. "Auranar Lupecyll-Atlon, what in all of Ea, The Harpist Halls, or in all the sky lit by Eluna's light makes you believe, for one moment, that your absence would somehow remove you from my heart, my thoughts, or my very being? That I would not spend every moment from then until The Cycle claim me in seeking you out? That The Harpist would deny me joining you in Her care?"

Verna's words only make Auranar cry harder, her hands over her eyes and her shoulders hunched. "I hate this. I hate this so much." She hates her words for not being enough. She can't explain. Can't define. "Couldn't you just... let me go?"

Verna does not like that she has caused her pain, to cry, regardless that she did so, before. Still, she likes it less than what Auranar is suggesting. "You assured me - convinced me-, most vehemently, that we would not live in fear; that we would not capitulate. They will not keep us from doing what must be done; their threats will not stall us from thwarting their plans."

She goes quiet as she considers another possibility. Is it even that? After some thought, she inquires, more softly, "Is there more that you hate? Is there other reason you would wish to be away from me?"

"I'm not afraid." Auranar denies, quietly, uncertainly. "I just..." She trails off and Verna's voice fills the void and she feels like she's breaking.

"I... I love you so much Verna. I'd spend every second with you if I could. I just can't do this. I can't watch your heart break over and over because I'm... like this. I can't watch my family torn to pieces while I'm standing there." Auranar looks at Verna desperately. "You'll beat them Verna, you'll find a way, but until then I'm just a hinderance."

Yet Verna has been afraid, IS afraid, of a great many things where Auranar is concerned. Up to including the recent, sudden, irrational possibility that her wife might simply wish to be away from her because of herself. She should not be so, not when Auranar has been a shining example of stubborness and courage, oft for Verna's benefit (and sanity). She can no more stand to witness what Auranar worries over, and cruelly selfish of her to defer it to Auranar by action or inaction.

She rises from her chair. "I would not, cannot, inflict that pain upon you, love." It does not lessen Auranar's pain that she does not see her as helpless nor a hindrance. "I will not have you feel responsible. I will not have you at risk. I shall find that means now." With that, she turns away and moves for the door.

"Where are you going?" Shock drives Auranar to motion. She rises to her feet and trails after Verna, feeling and looking like a lost kitten in a storm.

Verna pauses at the door, though she does not turn back. "There is yet a portal to close and a fiend to destroy. The sooner those are completed, the sooner you shall have every second of my time. I go to learn what more I may of them in preparation. You will not be present, thus you will not risk becoming the hinderance or liability that you believe yourself to be."

One hand gestures, causing her cloak to float to herself as the other unlatches the door. Only now does she look back. "Remain here. I shall return. I love you." With that, she turns and steps out into the moonless, starless night. The lack of fog may not make the utter dark any less foreboding.

-End