The quill, its white and grey-streaked feather, felt like a stone in Gael’s hand. A droplet of murky ink welled up on the tip, falling heavily with a splat on the parchment beneath it. Gael lowered the tip of the quill to the parchment and with one last belabored flourish, it was done. He signed his name to the transfer of Stewardship Title and Obligations. Gael pushed the parchment aside and laid down his quill. His knuckles ached and he could scarcely wiggle his fingers. The joints popped when he forced them against the edge of the table, granting a small relief. The back of his eyes ached, and the world appeared a blur. A deep chill worked its way through his bones and he absently pulled his cloak tighter. It was time. Over the past week Gael set about officiating the transfer of Stewardship. He could no longer fulfill the obligations that demanded so much time and demanded too much of his body. Flexing his fingers, Gael wondered if his body would have betrayed him so if he had taken to the sword as a child instead of the pen. He shook his head – there is no use regretting anything in this life… except that he did not get to spend more of it with Sharon. As this day approached, his thoughts turned more and more to her. Over the years her face grew dim in memory, but he still felt how she made him feel all that time ago. An absent smile came to his dry lips as he remembered how she would kiss him good-night, on the nights that he stayed awake well into the night. He could not clearly see her face any longer, but he could feel her lips and the touch of her hand on his neck and for the moment the chill was gone. “Will you come to me when the candle burns low?” She would ask him on those nights. “I will be with you then.” He would reply each time. And true to his word, when the tallow of the candle burned low, he went to bed. She was always asleep at that time, and he tucked her into the crook of his arm. The chair legs screeched across the wooden floor as he rose from his desk. Gael took several pained steps. The first steps after standing were the most difficult. The cramps made the muscles in his legs and hips tight and painful. He massaged his outer thighs roughly with his hands until he could take successive steps with diminished agony. The chill returned to his bones. Stepping out of his chamber and into the bright of day blinded him. He shielded his tired eyes with his hand until they adjusted to the new level of light. A soft breeze blew in from the mountains to the west of Britain, rustling the trees gently. It would be a long day, but a beautiful one. From the steps of the Great Council tower, Gael could survey the collection of homes and buildings that have become known as South Britain. There were people he would like to talk to one last time, but he wouldn’t. Best to not to disturb still waters, he thought. He had only spoken of his declining health to one person, albeit briefly. The Lady Atropa visited the Moonglow zoo, where she found Gael in an attempt to learn how to play music. He was terribly bad at it, but it had been a life-long fascination to learn. He never had the time for it, and he did not still, but he forced himself to make the time in spite of the protestations of his hands. Gael wasn’t sure why he told her and not those closest to him. She suffered from a strange malady, so perhaps he felt her something of a kindred spirit? Maybe it was just the melancholy of his mood that made him want to share with someone. Whatever the reason he had for divulging at that time, he was confident she would keep his secret. He did not want to be remembered in a weak and frail state. Gael looked upon the Umbra – the ship custom-requisitioned from Goodsmith, an expert ship builder. Her sails were sturdy and the wood fresh and new. It was as fine a ship as Gael has ever seen, which admittedly was not many. He had been prone to sea-sickness as a youth and did not travel much by sea. While setting the rigging and preparing the sail, Gael momentarily considered asking Admiral Ardis Valspar to take up this task, but then thought better against it. This was Gael’s task alone, in spite of how his body ached and groaned under the duress. It did not take long before he felt short of breath and dizzy. He leaned against the mast and closed his eyes. Her face appeared to him, slightly clearer than last time. Sharon stood in the great hall and he listened from the doorway. She played the violin to near perfection, he always thought, though he knew little of music. The grace of her fingers on the strings, the poise of her neck, the fluidity with which the bow glided at her behest; he remembered it all. She wore a green gown embroidered with flowers, and her brown curls were pinned up with a golden comb. When she saw him, she stopped playing. She asked him to join her and learn to play, but he would need to work well into the night he knew. “Will you come to me when the candle burns low?” She asked, her disappointment thinly veiled. “I will be with you then.” There was a place far to the north, Candleabra point. The flowers that grew there were abundant and exotic; their beauty and fragrance were something Gael missed dearly. Sharon walked with him through these flowers early in their courtship, their fingers entwined. It was among the flowers that they pronounced their love for each other. It was among the flowers that she told him that he was to become a father. He had only known the joy of fatherhood for an agonizingly short moment. The flowers reminded Gael of little angles, each full of promise. Gael only ever set foot upon Candleabra point one time since. Gael did not want to sail there. He would have preferred to walk, but his body simply would not allow it. A horse, with its jarring canter, would also be too unbearable. At least with the sea, as nauseated as it made him, the waves were gentle and rolling. The motion in some aspects was soothing. The day came and went and Gael stepped foot on old, familiar ground. The flowers were pale in the moonlight, but his candle threw a crimson and gold hue upon them, making them sparkle. With a heavy sigh an unbidden memory crept into his thoughts. He could see her face clearly now. She was pale, her cheeks hollow and eyes dark and sunken, her thin hand clasped firmly in his. Her lips were dry and quivered when she spoke, her words barely audible. She wanted him to stay with her. He would have, but there were matters that now felt like frivolities to attend to. The physician said she should make it another two days. Her ghostly pallor flickered yellow from the dancing candlelight. “Will you come to me when the candle burns low?” She barely whispered. “I will be with you then.” But he wasn’t. While tending to his duties as Steward, she had passed earlier than the physician thought. The candle had burned out in its entirety and she was gone. She was laid to rest among the flowers of Candleabra point. He stood on the spot, the best he could remember anyways, where she had been buried years past. Her face was clear to him now. Not the pale, skeletal face of her last day, but the youthful, colorful face that he had loved when he was younger. Her green eyes sparkled as they walked through the flowers; her curls bounced along her shoulders, highlighted by beams of light. She was happy. He was happy. The whole future, the whole world awaited the two of them together. It was that night that she first ever asked. “Will you come to me when the candle burns low?” “I will be with you then.”
Awesome story. Love the pictures with it too... I'm horrible at coordinating pics with my stories. This is awesome!
I was captivated by the recurring theme. By the end of the script the 6 words "I will be with you then" carry so much weight. Why Gael! why did you not go to her when the wick was a quarter or even half? *shakes fists* p.s. I found myself hoping this was only a fictional tale around Gael's character, and not tied to reality of life behind your avatar...
