(Child death tw; grief tw) Over the land there lies a long shadow

[lightofthestars]

In the court among the flowers, a small grave has been made. Next to it, upon a bed-sheet shroud, lies Frisk.

Tauriel and the Batman had worked to make Frisk ready for this funeral. She could not bear the thought of laying them to rest as she had found them, and so together, the two of them had cleaned Frisk's body and dressed them in new clothes. Tauriel had bathed their body in many tears as she had worked, for their wounds were grievous and had surely caused them great anguish. She had need, in the end, to find a cloth to wind around their neck, for nothing could cover the wound that had ended their life.

When the work had been carried out, Tauriel had called as many as she could find of the people of the castle to the garden. She cannot be the only one to say farewell to their dearly loved friend.

Comments

[antitemporal]

"doesn't matter." He lifts one shoulder in a doleful shrug. Reluctantly, he releases his grip on her, but even that's just for the sake of properly taking her hand in his. Her hands are still much different than S-4's or Sans', still fit strangely in his. But he's getting used to it. It's not so bad.

"even 'sans-serif' is, is really just a nickname. my full name is 'anti-temporal interference unit', but everyone got tired of saying it when they just wanted me to go somewhere. and that would have made s-4's real name even longer."

The smile he wears is a shy and fragile thing, as he reaches down to tug at a spare thread along the hem of his plain green shirt. "i kind of like 's2'. that way, me and s-4 match. but, um...'pen vuin' is okay. or, um, 'hên vell'. they sound nice. i guess i just...am i really dear to you?"

[lightofthestars]

She threads her fingers through his. She takes care with his frail bones, but still her grasp is solid.

"Yes, S2," she says. Though he does not look up at her, she keeps her gaze upon him. "Though we have known each other but a short time, you have brought light to my life. I am glad you are here."

Silently, she vows that she will preserve him from harm. She will not fail this child, as she failed Frisk.

[antitemporal]

Perhaps drawn by the force of emotion in her gaze, Sans-Serif does look up at her then. His smile grows softer and more genuine, full of a bright affection for her that he wouldn't know how to describe but couldn't ignore if he wanted to. "i'm glad i'm here, too. a-and i'm glad you're here, and my brother, and the other me."

"...i still like it here." He admits it in a whisper, like a shameful secret, his gaze falling back to the grass beneath his bare feet. He digs his toes into it, anxiously, drawing some comfort from the coolness and the way it rustles faintly. "i don't want to go home." He doesn't want to be who and what he was before. He wants to be a brother and a dear child and a friend. "do you think s-4 would be okay if i told him that?"

[lightofthestars]

"Of course." She gives his hand the smallest press. "I think that he might feel the same way."

She tries, and finds she has within her an answering smile, faint though it might be. "Do not be ashamed that you are happy here, S2, hên vell. There is always goodness in life, even those times when it can be hard to see. Take your joy wherever you find it, without guilt."

For he has had little enough joy in life before now. No one should fault him finding it here, even after tragedy.