*Hearthglen, Present Day*
Like a drowning man, he struggled to thrash his way from the blackness that had seized him, the stuff of dreams and nightmares clinging to his consciousness as he opened his eyes, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. He took a moment to lay in the dimness of the bedroom, breathing heavily and feeling sweat beading on his skin. After a few moments to calm himself, he pushed the blankets off gently and rose from the bed, making his way across the cool wooden floor of the house and taking care not to step on any of the squeaky boards that he'd come to know by heart.
The kitchen was brighter, the first rays of the sun peeking in as it rose along the treeline beyond Hearthglen. He yawned, standing before the window and staring for a few minutes, still trying to clear his mind of the terrible fear and sorrow that the dreams had brought on. Almost mechanically his hands worked, opening a tin of coffee and then taking some water from a basin and filling a pot, setting it to boil over the embers of last evening's hearth. In a few moments the water was hot enough to strain through the coffee rinds, the smell of it helping him to awaken and battle the last remnants of what had seized him in his dreams.
He paused, standing by the window again with the steaming mug of hot coffee in his hands, sipping from it, his mind in a faraway place. He noted how the sun's light touched on the leaves of the trees beyond the little house and the way that the colors had begun to shift with the changing of the seasons. Soon enough he knew that the trees would be crowned in glorious yellow, red, and orange leaves, the vibrant colors almost a celebration even as they heralded the coming of fall. When the seasons changed and the winter approached in the distance, the dreams always came to him. The cooler months always reminded him of her after all.
She always liked this time of year. I remember the excitement she would get when the first signs of the changing season began to appear. I remember the way she'd talk of pumpkin pie, and the harvest festivals, and the holidays that met the year's end.
He sighed, setting the mug down on the counter-top before him, trying unsuccessfully to banish the image. After dreams like the ones he'd just had, he knew that such a task was impossible, but it was something he had learned to live with. Even as he began to lose his battle with the feelings the memories brought, a pair of hands wrapped around his broad torso, a soft form pressing against his back and hugging him tightly.
He smiled, letting her hug him for a moment before turning in her arms to look at her. Deep brown eyes greeted him, the smile below them as bright as his own. Dark black hair that was very much different from the golden hair he'd just been thinking of crowned her head, the soft strands almost inviting his fingers to run through them. Just seeing her there helped to banish some of what he'd been feeling inside, and he sighed again, this time partially in relief.
Her expression changed and she gave him a knowing look, an entire conversation's worth of words passing between them in that moment. She knew what he was thinking of, and she said nothing, knowing he had to sort through it on his own. It wasn't wrong for his thoughts to wander to this after all, and sometimes healing could take a lifetime. Even so, she reached out and gave his hand a gentle squeeze, letting him know that she was there for him no matter what, telling him she understood. Sometimes when she was so supportive he wondered what he'd done to deserve such a loving and compassionate wife, and how she could be so understanding of the fact that he dreamed of another woman.
"I hope I didn't wake her," he said gently, concern in his tone.
"No, Amaliah is still sleeping," she said, reassuring him with a smile. "You know that baby could sleep through the next Cataclysm without stirring. A few little moans from you in the night won't wake her."
He smiled at her, admiring the way his wife Miranda always knew exactly how to talk to him to soothe his worries. The house they lived in was small, and the bassinet was in their room at least for the time being. He and some of the local men were working to add another room to the house, but it would be a few more weeks before the project was complete and they'd get a proper crib for the baby. He was grateful his night terrors hadn't awoken the child.
After a moment he nodded, sighing and relaxing again, turning to pick up his mug and take a sip, his eyes looking out the window and his thoughts distant. He felt her stir, felt her move to stand beside him, looking out the window. To his surprise she spoke again, broaching the topic that they normally never brought up.
"Did something remind you...of her I mean? Is that why you...?" her voice trailed off.
He thought about it, seeing the colors of the leaves outside and finally nodding, "I think it's just the time of year. It's getting close to when I met her...when...well, you know."
She remained silent for a few minutes, as if thinking of what to say. Finally she turned to him, placing a comforting hand on his arm, "It's okay, Fred. It's okay to think about it. It's only when you don't talk about it and keep it inside that it can hurt you. You know I will always be here for you, be here with you. I would never keep you from feeling this. I don't feel like I am less of a woman because of this. Do you understand?"
He smiled at her, patting her hand and then reaching out to embrace her, feeling her love flowing through him, "I know Mira, I know. I think that one day I won't think about it, that the changing season or the first winter snow won't bring it to mind. It's just hard, knowing she's...you know...like that...and out there. Especially after I had believed her gone. The memories are hard to banish, although I think they are softer now. They don't feel like knives anymore if that makes sense."
She smiled up at him, standing on her tip-toes to give him a kiss on the cheek, "Frederick Lightstone, you always have such an amusing way of expressing things. I understand what you mean, and it's okay to feel this way. In a way, I think it's sweet and I like it that you still think of her sometimes."
He blinked down at her, his expression puzzled, "Sweet...? What do you mean?"
She grinned, tickling his sides a bit, "Well it just means that you will always care for me the same way. A man loves the way he loves, and you love me too. I know that you'll always think of me, no matter what we face together. You'll always be there for me."
He smiled, reaching out to hug his wife before looking towards the window. With her head buried in his chest, locked in the embrace, Miranda Lightstone would never see the haunted expression on Frederick's face as he watched the morning sun dance on the leaves outside.
She would never know how, in his mind, Beckyann Eastberg would forevermore be screaming for him to save her, or the guilt that he would bear for the rest of his life for turning away. She would never know just how often that nightmare would come to visit him, even if she drove the darkness of it from his heart with her every waking moment.
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