Through The Rain

[vanimadin]

This fic is arguably the best one-shot that I've written. It's another songfic, and everyone LOVES it; several people have told me it made them cry. When I very first wrote it and posted it, I thought it was... okay. But then just recently when I was going through my fics to edit them, I read it again and was surprised by how good it actually is. I guess I just needed some perspective on it? I dunno.

Title: Through The Rain
Fandom: Heralds of Valdemar
Author: senashenta
Rating: T
Genre: Fantasy, Tragedy, Angst
Characters: Willow Kalter, Companion Reyen, Grove Born Stallion Gwydion
Disclaimer: Valdemar and concepts belong to Mercedes Lackey; lyrics are to "Concrete Angel" by Martina McBride; this fic and original characters belong to their author.
Summary: She's not Chosen, she's not special, she's not anything. Born into despair, she will die the same way, leaving only a single heart to mourn for her.

THROUGH THE RAIN
By Senashenta

-
She walks to school with the lunch she packed
Nobody knows what she's holding back
Wearing the same dress she wore yesterday
She hides the bruises with linen and lace.
-

Scuffed shoes trudged along the paved streets of Haven, their wearer walking purposely—albeit slowly—toward the Collegium. Beneath an errant mop of dirty blonde hair, expressive brown eyes conveyed a sadness that was masked behind the kind of vague indifference that is always born of years of practice.

Other children skipped or ran past, hurrying to their classes—laughing and playing. Her gaze followed them for a few yards, and then returned to the ground in front of her feet, her face a carefully schooled neutral.

As with the day before, she wore a plain skirt and tunic, both off white. At one time, they had been accented with lace... but even that small luxury had been lost to her over time. She had been wearing them to school every day for so long that it was hard to remember a time when she hadn't, although such days had existed—a long time ago.

Her thin, pale hands held tightly to a faded patch of cloth, in which was tucked a chunk of bread that would serve as her lunch. It was hard and stale, but it was filling. It was also all she was allowed... all she had been allowed for the last few moons, along with water.

Anything else that was brought into the house was off limits.

Bread and water—a prisoner's diet.

And what did that make her..?

-
The teacher wonders but she doesn't ask
It's hard to see the pain behind the mask
Bearing the burden of a secret storm
Sometimes she wishes she was never born.
-

The only reason she attended classes at all was because, by the laws of Valdemar, she had to. If it hadn't been for that, she would have been confined to the house all the time... and in some ways, she wished she could be.

She was so tired...

School at the Collegium Temple was her only respite—but she had no friends there, no one to talk to or play with—and it was becoming harder and harder to hide behind her casual mask of uncaring. She watched the other children her age playing... laughing... having fun... not a care in the world...

She was slowly dying inside, and each day that she was subjected to the normalness of the rest of the world, the pain grew worse.

The teacher was beginning to catch on; suspicion edged his voice when he spoke to her, and his eyes glinted with the kind of understanding and sympathy that made her want to cry. He couldn't know, and she wouldn't tell him—or anyone—the secret that weighed heavily on her heart.

"Willow, are you alright?"

He pitied her, just like everyone else did. She nodded mechanically, fingers clenching into her skirt under the desk where he couldn't see, and didn't meet his eyes. If she didn't look at him, he couldn't see...

"Yes, sir."

The Collegium bell rang, shouting to the world that it was time for the students to take a break, and she got to her feet under Teacher's watchful gaze, silent and sad, and scurried out of the Temple before he could say anything more.

Life would have been so much simpler...

If it just hadn't been at all...

-
Through the wind and the rain
She stands hard as a stone
In her world that she can rise above
But her dreams give her wings
And she flies to a place where she's loved
Concrete Angel.
-

Reyen stood up to her chest in the only patch of long grass that existed in Companion's Field—across the Terilee river and far from the rest of the Herd-and sifted through the three-foot-high stalks for butterflies, beetles, and other pretty insects to add to her mental collection.

Though she lacked the hands—and therefore the dexterity—to actually collect the creatures, she kept a tally in her head of all the different species and variations of them that she'd seen; similar to what a bird-watcher would do. It was an odd hobby for a Companion to have, which she more than readily admitted, but it helped her pass the time and she found it relaxing.

But on that particular afternoon, there was something odd in the air...

She knew what it was when she poked her nose through a particularly tall section of grass and her eyes lit upon the little girl—she couldn't be more than twelve years old, thin, and with a sad air about her. Her skirt was soaked from the knees down; she must have waded across the water to get there.

Reyen watched curiously as the girl stood for a moment, staring back across the river at the Collegia grounds, and then turned soulful brown eyes toward the Terilee in front of her. She seemed to be staring right through her own reflection—

—and then she flung her arms away from her sides and tipped her face back toward the sky. Chocolate eyes squeezed shut as an errant wind lifted the locks of her hair and whipped them back over her shoulders.

Her skirt lifted a bit—and a mental gasp sounded in Reyen's mind when her own crystalline eyes took in the array of angry bruises that marred the girl's skin. A rainbow of colors, from brown to green and purple, some old and some new, mottled the pale flesh... and underneath the layers of bruising, several deep scars were visible.

:Gods—:

She must have Spoken aloud, for the girl whirled around, looking very much like a frightened rabbit; "who's there!"

-
Somebody cries in the middle of the night
The neighbors hear, but they turn out the light
A fragile soul caught in the hands of fate
When morning comes it'll be too late.
-

It had been a fortnight since then.

Reyen remembered all to well the surprise in Willow's features when she had introduced herself—surprise, and hope—hope that was not meant to be. There was no Tug at her heart, there was no Calling. She shouldn't have Spoken to the girl at all... and yet...

Somehow, the helplessness in her eyes had captured her...

The young Companion stood at the bank of the Terilee, looking down into the moonlit water while the rest of the Herd slept, contemplating that fateful day and wondering what the future held for her new friend. She had learned since their meeting that bruises were the least of Willow's worries—and that, despite her age, the girl carried a heavy shadow with her, always.

Though they hadn't discussed it, Reyen knew what was happening...

Willow had taken to visiting her on the days that she had classes—and Reyen hadn't dissuaded her. The child was lonely, sad, and helpless. She needed a friend, and Reyen found herself unable to turn her away—what Companion could?

Instead she waited...

Every day...

And wished she could do more than comfort her.

-
Through the wind and the rain
She stands hard as a stone
In a world that she can't rise above
But her dreams give her wings
And she flies to a place where she's loved
Concrete Angel.
-

—tears in the night—

—a flood of stark terror—

—pain, and then agony—

—acceptance—

—and then—

—finally—

—Freedom—

And the Companion she had come to call her friend—whom she loved with all her heart, who knew what she was going through, who knew and understood, who cared for her like no one ever had—could do nothing.

Through the pain, though the encroaching Shadows, she spoke a final time—

"Reyen..."

And somewhere in the dark, a shriek rose from an equine throat. A scream of horror, of rage, of helplessness, of despair... and a white shape reared in the starlight. The vocalization touched the ears and hearts of all those around, and drew tears to eyes which had been unwilling to see what lay before them.

But despite her grief, there was hope—and an innocent soul was released to the Havens.

-
A statue stands in a shaded place
An angel girl with an upturned face
A name is written on a polished rock
A broken heart that the world forgot.
-

Sapphire eyes closed tightly, and her head hung down to the ground. A soft white nose brushed the grass as Reyen bowed her head, the weight of her sorrow—of her guilt—nearly forcing her to her knees.

A few feet away, the cold stare of the marble angel continued, unblinking, unfeeling, steady as always—a likeness of her friend in every way, but without the weight she had carried. Unmarked arms crossed over her knees and her head resting on them, Willow watched the heavens from her final resting place.

Reyen released a shuddering breath, uttering a sound that conveyed her internal pain and turmoil.

She had known—she had known, and had done nothing.

And now...

:Reyen?:

The sympathetic tone to Gwydion's Voice as he approached her brought forth a flood of bitterness that she hadn't known was there; sympathy was the last thing she wanted. She had known... she had known what was happening... she had known... and still...

Her heart felt ready to shatter. Willow had not been her Chosen—Willow had been her friend, and in some ways that was even worse; she'd had no one to turn to, no one to protect her, and then the two of them had met. Reyen had cared for her. Could have been her saving grace.

She had known, and still the girl had died.

Painfully.

Violently.

:You comforted her... you made her feel loved.: Gwydion said softly, :you were her friend, and she was yours. You gave her hope, Reyen—and she loved you in return. Hope... love... comfort... they were things she had lived without for so long that she had forgotten what they even were.: His tone was still subdued, :at least she remembered it—you gave those things back to her, before she was lost.:

Reyen's eyes opened slowly and she fixed her gaze on the grave stone before her.

Hope. Love. Comfort.

Those things were of little consequence to the dead.

-
Through the wind and the rain
She stands hard as a stone
In a world that she can't rise above
But her dreams give her wings
And she flies to a place where she's loved—
-

If she had done something—

—anything—

:There was... nothing you could have done.:

Reyen shook her head sadly, speaking for the first time since learning of her friend's death, and uttered something that very few Companions ever had; :you're wrong, Grove Born. You're wrong.:

She now knew what the future held for Willow Kalter.

And it was nothing.

-
Concrete Angel.
-

***