Tragedy

[Laszlo]

Watching Fia process the information he had given her, it was difficult to discern what she could have been thinking. Denial, of course, was the easiest route. If anyone told Laszlo that Alvadas had been destroyed, he'd be skeptical without proof. Or if it had been Kalinor… he'd make panicked haste across Kalea, denying it vehemently until he saw it for himself. Laszlo quietly digested Fia's personal information, noting especially that she had a fiancé somewhere. An intrepid traveler no doubt, if he was not in Lhavit. Strange. Fia did not look much like a housewife. "You're no imposition," Laszlo repeated, keeping the letter as he held up one hand. Like so many other things in his existence, Fia and her predicament had been thrust upon him without warning. This pattern was jarring, but to shy away from it would be cowardice. "I'm sturdier than I look. But um." He looked down and frowned thoughtfully, weighted by what must have been morbid news. "Maybe you should sit properly before you hear the rest." He indicated the round, cushioned chair in the center of the room. Drawing in a cleansing breath, Laszlo sighed anxiously as prepared to read the rest of it to her. The rain continued against the window outside, pattering against the glass as a golden fire crackled in the hearth. It replaced the silence when Laszlo wasn't speaking. "All your near kin got on the boats, but the storms gave another blow on the 33rd day, throwing some of us overboard and breaking masts." He hesitated, fingers tightening on the letter as if he could feel what Fia was about to. "Da drowned. He was a fair swimmer, but we think something cracked his skull before he was tossed in the water." He continued after a partial pause. "Your cousin Paul can't use his right arm no more." Laszlo paused again, re-reading that sentence to be sure he got it right. "Broke it to pieces when trying to save his horse from the collapsing stable. The rest of us live but are scattered between Novallas (the Eaven line), Ravok (the Greenmans), and Zeltiva (me and mine). "I'm sorry to bring such bad tidings and from a relation that has been rough on you on account of what your father did. You don't have much affection for him either I think. Gran-Da loved you dear and he was your upbringing. I had the best hand among us and can write common, expecting someone will need to read this to you. Mercy on them." Laszlo tilted his head. "So there it is. Defend yourself, Denvali. Madge." Laszlo lowered the letter and looked back up at Fia, rubbing the back of his neck. Gods. "Fia, I'm so sorry."

[Fia Eaven]

It was the moment of the division of her years, and she was in a stranger's chair with her boots coming unlaced and her dress peppered with ash.
The hallowed and the dark did not send heralds. They slipped in with the mundane and clasped the unoffered hand hung at your side. And nothing but you would stop while they held you. The water would still flow, the streets would fill and Tanroa would not so much as raise her hem. But you, you stood perfectly still in your everyday clothes and felt meaning run from you.

Couldn't the world sense the irrevocable change that had come upon it?

Fia's pallid face swayed; its powers of expression broken. Flesh could not shape itself to such a deluge, so it contorted into hideous grief. Both her hands covered her twisting features to spare Laszlo the sight.
A low keen broke through the mask of fingers. The room crept back from that hollow, animal sound. It was the first of a hundred fissures. Poor Laszlo had to witness it, and wretched Fia had to be witnessed.

"I'm sorry—I—"

Oh the glory that the world has made
Oh but it takes and it takes and it takes.

[Laszlo]

This was awful. If Laszlo were still whole—as whole as an Ethaefal could ever hope to be—he might have rushed to comfort the poor woman. Even if he didn't know her, he might have taken her shoulders or held her cheek, and offered his counsel. A younger Laszlo thought he knew the worst of torments and took solace in empathizing with others and soothing smaller pains. This Laszlo was still, his eyes of warm gold solemn and hopeless as he watched Fia fall apart. He was too numb from coping with his own sorrow to feel much in the way of empathy. Instead, he felt as though he were watching himself, seeing her shatter the way he had shattered. It was a heart-wrenching display, now that he was standing on the other side of it, but he was still powerless to stop the pain. He could not begin to touch what she was feeling; what he went through could not be the same as losing a parent. But oh, did he pity her. By comparison, she was containing herself a lot better than he had. Then again, unlike him, she hadn't witnessed it herself. She hadn't watched her grandfather hit his head or sink under the roiling waves during a violent storm. Or perhaps it was worse that she wasn't there. Laszlo swallowed, feeling bitter and sad and uncomfortable, and utterly useless. The moment stretched on, and he glanced quietly around the room, which was still grimly bathed in gray sunlight and the glow of the hearth. He wondered what Duvalyon would do. That didn't help. Coming up to the chair, the Ethaefal sank down in front of her and knelt on the floor. There was nothing he could say to make it easier, but at least she didn't have to be alone. Laszlo had little room left in his heart to share the burden of someone else's tragedy, but he would not be cruel enough to abandon someone so obviously in need. He set down the letter, then gently placed his hand on her arm. Laszlo looked up at her and sighed. He still felt numb, but warmth touched his features. "Don't. It's alright. You can cry, if you need to. It won't bother me. I know this must be…" No. He didn't know anything. It was a bit of a lie to say he wasn't bothered, but if it helped her, then he could live with it.

[Fia Eaven]

Laszlo's light hand on her arm could not dissuade Fia from guarding her face, and if she wept, it made no sound. But her rounded shoulders trembled as she hunched toward her heart. A creature profoundly alone could only curl further into its self. Her torrent of pain met a finer current of cold dismay. It was a terrible thing she had done to this man. She should have wrenched the letter from his hands at the barest suggestion of the hard truths it held. Though difficult to fathom, he had given her a gift beyond common generosity. "I'm sorry," she managed again, but this attempt had more than a remnant of voice. "Horrible thing to do to you. And you kept on—a kindness." she stood and fumbled for her cloak on the hearth, "Please forgive, me." Clasping the neck of her damp cloak was minor struggle. The body was fruitlessly asking for a pardon from the mind. Fia reached the door and leaned against it, eager to flee. "Might I have it?" the door she rested against opened a crack letting in the sound of rain running down glass and stones. Her hand reached behind her for the letter. "It will still mean something to me."

[Laszlo]

Laszlo stood as Fia left the chair, grabbed her cloak, and made for the door. Unsure of what he should do to comfort her, he stood ineffectually in place and watched her move across the room, giving her the freedom to act as she chose. Who was he to stop her? This was her mess, not his. He was merely the hapless stranger who crossed her path at an unfortunate time. Although, Laszlo couldn't help but notice the way sad, vulnerable women seemed to have a way of falling into his lap. First that lonely girl in Syliras, then Nassanye the widow, then Siofra, Abalia, Elhaym, Suria… Gods, was he doing something unconsciously to invite this? A residual consequence of being a firstborn Symenestra in another life? Or was this simply ingrained? The latter seemed more likely. It was difficult to fathom how he could have possibly hunted down innocent women, even as a Symenestra. A much more believable scenario was that he merely used this trait to his advantage. Fia spoke, and Laszlo returned to the moment. His mind was wandering. It was a coping mechanism to help him deal with his grief, but he was letting it bleed into important things. He chided himself inwardly. She was a pathetic, brittle thing leaning there against the door. Gray light snuck in beside her as it cracked open. Laszlo's forehead creased. She didn't deserve to be alone at a time like this. She had a fiancé, somewhere, oblivious to her suffering. Worse than having no one at all was having someone who wasn't there. "It's yours," he agreed. Laszlo knelt down to pick letter up from the floor, pausing to consider it for a moment before he quietly walked over to the blacksmith. He handed it over, meeting her eyes. His voice was level, calm, and deep. Perhaps it should have been lighter. He couldn't decide how he was supposed to sound. "Fia, you don't have to apologize. And you don't have to go. This rain is cold and miserable. You can stay, if you need to talk." Laszlo was lousy with words, and sympathy was difficult to wield when he was already drowning in his own self-pity, but he could listen at least. He didn't even know this woman, but even if it was difficult, he still wanted to help her. To see her hurting was… wrong, somehow. She looked and spoke like innocence incarnate, and before her eyes had been so patient and warm. Seeing pain in them seemed like desecration.

[Fia Eaven]

A tremor of cold air reminded Fia the door was still open. Spectral chill wound under her cloak and around her body, undoing the flush of Laszlo's hearth. Beyond the threshold was the rain and streets she had yet to learn. She saw the evening stretch before her: her stagger home, the ill-fitting key to her room, the straw mattress and the raw bells of heaving memories and regrets. No stranger should be asked to console her in this. Gray seasons came to all who dared live. Enduring them was the price the gods placed on years. Her thumb rubbed the textured paper in her hand, a reflex from when she thought it had kinder tidings. Fia tried to slide away from Laszlo's gilded countenance, but when he purposefully sought her eyes, she was bound. They looked at one another clearly. It was the first open view she allowed of her mottled face. This was a question without words. Was he really willing to withstand this ungainly glimpse of bare grief? Fia didn't wait for an answer in the shape of his golden eyes. It would be selfish to demand one. "Thank you, Sir," she even managed a brittle smile as her hoarse voice closed around the last answer, "But I ought to go." Fia opened the door a span more and fit through the tiny space, trying to keep the wind and rain from slipping past her. Her cowl fell back in the attempt, but she didn't bother to pull it up again. What was one tempest for another? She had lost guiding stars and was still at sea.

[Laszlo]

"Fia," Laszlo spoke, more surprised than insistent, as a feeble attempt to stop her. She slipped outside, a fallen leaf scooped up by the autumn breeze and hurled into the elements. The Ethaefal stood in his doorway, made timid by the flashing, drumming sky. The storm was an unneeded obstacle in what was already a difficult situation. It could have ended there. He could have let their paths diverge in that moment and allowed her to withdraw back into her life, just shut the door and turn away, resigning himself to conceited pity for the rest of the day. It wouldn't have felt good, but in the long run, she was better off without Laszlo inserting himself into her affairs. That never went well for anyone. But she had no one. A fiancé who wasn't there, scattered family in far off places, but no one within reach. Laszlo could recall when a stranger had taken him in, just because he was alone. Abalia, too, wouldn't want Laszlo to simply withdraw into himself just because it was easier. It made him worse; bitter, cynical, and afraid. If Laszlo slipped back into his angry, quiet shell, she… Well, she was gone. She couldn't possibly want anything. But Laszlo could almost hear her at the back of his mind. Do something, Laz. Fia and her vibrant red hair continued to be assailed by swells of rain as she slipped further into the cold Lhavit streets. "Where will you go?" He called through the rain, stepping outside. His auburn hair became weighted and adhered to his warm, glittering skin. Water began to drip off the tips of his horns. "Back to your room? There's no one there." Grim truths. Unkind to point them out. There was hesitation. Laszlo glanced up at the sky spitefully and swallowed his disquiet for the churning clouds. He stepped out into the street, leaving his door open behind him. In another moment, he was laying a hand on Fia's shoulder. "If I were you," he said, softer now that less space between them, "I wouldn't want to be alone right now. You don't have to be." Still mildly at war with himself, he glanced over his shoulder at his apartment. The floor was getting wet. "Come inside. Please. At least until the rain stops."

[Fia Eaven]

"Where will you go?" Fia hesitated, her stalwart trudge interrupted. Her back was still to the door when Laszlo spoke the answer they both knew. The sound of his footsteps were diluted by the rain, so she started under his sudden hand. Protectively raised shoulders slackened at the first hum of his voice, and she turned to behold a partially drenched Ethaefal. Even disheveled by the rain, he was a marvel up close. The elements had no more power on his appearance than they would a quartz statue's. Laszlo spoke gently, his voice moving under the peck of rain. Polite, even in this, Fia tried to look at him when he spoke. Her face was unbecomingly pale like a herring's belly and tendrils of hair were clinging to her cheeks. Eventually, the struggle for courtesy was lost, and she tilted her visage toward the ground. "You forgot shoes," surprise lifted her tone before it slipped into worry, "And it's raining." Fia was defeated. "You shouldn't have run out," she remarked softly, "Not like that." The human's heavy cloak swung like a bell with the first step towards the door. It was enough momentum to keep her moving. "Until the rain stops."

[Laszlo]

After looking down at his feet, Laszlo lifted his head back up to Fia. A small, sad smile had found its way into his features, putting more warmth in his eyes than the blacksmith had ever seen so far. She had lost her grandfather, lost her home city, and now everyone she ever knew was either dead or far beyond the mountains of Kalea. And here she was concerned that Laszlo was barefoot in bad weather. "If there's one thing you should know about me, it's that I'm often careless." Grateful that she had changed her mind, Laszlo gestured back to his apartment with one arm, allowing her to walk ahead of him. "Come on, before you melt." Once he was out of her line of sight, Laszlo shivered against the wet and cold, then followed behind. The rain and the rolling storm were shut outside, and two long shadows interrupted the warm firelight that filled Laszlo's apartment. While Fia made her way back to the hearth, Laszlo began prying the ribbon tie from his curling, waterlogged hair, muttering under his breath whenever he managed to rip a few strands out of his head. A thick silence pervaded, settling in the room like a melancholy shroud. Laszlo had run out of things to say. He had at least gotten Fia out of the rain and given her company, but there were no words that could ease her reality. Every chime that passed brought her further into the world where Denval was gone and the man who brought her up had drowned, while the comfort of her life slipped further into the past. It had taken Laszlo days to stop begging the gods to bring Abalia knocking at his front door. Another log was placed in the fire, and eventually a teakettle filled with water hung above the hearth. At some point, Laszlo left the room for what seemed like a long while. When he finally returned, he was wearing new, dry clothing and had a folded quilt draped over one arm. It was from Duvalyon's room, but it belonged to the Solar Wind Apartments. Laszlo didn't think it smelled too much like Symenestra musk. In fact it seemed to carry a hint of lemon. "Here." Laszlo laid the quilt over the side of the chair, then straightened and fastened the final button at his collar. "It's a spare from the other room. Get yourself warm." The Ethaefal picked up the now-steaming kettle from above hearth by its warmed wooden handle, bringing it with him across the room. Abalia had usually insisted on making her own tea, and Duvalyon would have choked before letting Laszlo make him anything. Making tea wasn't something he did often, but it was just hot water and leaves, wasn't it? Couldn't be that hard. Dried, fragrant leaves were pulled from a tin and sprinkled into two cups. Laszlo singed his hand on the steam as he poured the hot water, prompting him to curse in some twisting language. Still half-mumbling at himself over his lack of grace, Laszlo brought a cup to Fia, then took his own in both hands as he sat on his sofa again. He wasn't especially thirsty, of course, but it seemed polite to have a cup with her, even if he only had a few sips. It smelled pleasant, at least, as the steam from it rolled warmly up his neck. "I believe there's some honey in the pantry. You're welcome to whatever's there." It wasn't as if he was going to eat any of it.

[Fia Eaven]

Fia had diminished to her square necked dress. The fictitious bulk of her cloak and apron were in front of the fire again, and her muddy boots left courteously by the door. Her feet peeked out from under her hem showing frequently darned socks. When Laszlo emerged with a blanket, Fia was staring into the fire, seeing nothing. Her hands were upturned in her lap in a dazed pose between begging and prayer. She stirred at Laszlo's voice and accepted the gift with a worn smile. She admiringly squeezed the fabric in her hands, betraying her simple roots. The inn's quilts weren't so thick. This felt more like one of her fine Aunt's creations made over a season and plucked at in front of her and Da's hearth. Her Aunt would usually complain about the size of the fire in their home. "Too high for a short roof," approving of it only when her eyes were weary. Fia and her Da liked the tall blaze, forge warmed as they were in the day. Their hearth's cinder smell filled the house, mingling with the scents of earth and sea. She had tried to bundle kitchen herbs and hang them from the rafters, but the taste of brine and iron was never completely overcome. The hearth, so sound and bright in her mind, had sank in bedlam into a lightless ocean. Perhaps her Da dozed beside it. "Lemon," she observed, "It smells like lemon." This pleased her as much as it could considering the circumstances. "Will its owner be cross?" she asked too softly to be understood. Fia drew her legs into her chest, and enveloped herself in the quilt, believing it would not be given with reservations. Awareness faded, and Fia wiped her almost drained eyes on the wad of quilt folded over her arm. She was fixating on the fire again, dreaming awake, when Laszlo retreated to the ritual of tea. A garbled swear hissed over her shoulder and Fia jerked at the silhouette of the sound. The human hunched again, attributing it to the gentle madness creeping though her thoughts. The tea was taken with two hands so it could heat her fingers. It was eventually abandoned to the edge of the hearth, before being taken up again. "Thank you, Laszlo," his name was handled warmly, "It's good as is. I'm not used to honey." She blew on the tea's surface and tried to swallow its comfort. They sat in this odd fellowship for longer than the human knew. Eventually the cup was empty and Fia could only wonder what a seer would read in the leaves. There had been a few murmurs between them, but nothing either would recall a bell later. Though Fia had done little, the muscles around her chest were brindled with aches and her blood had turned to clay. She slept without relief, curled like a hound in the small chair.