The crowds had dissipated long since he had arrived, their private ceremonies all but concluded. The parades had surely meant something to somebody… just not to him. To him, it was all one big joke, a disgrace to what sacrifice really meant. Festooned garlands and cheerful faces… all to put the horrors of a plague that those in power brought upon everyone. And for what? What did any of it accomplish? Did picking one side over the other really make that much of a difference in anybody’s life? What was the reason to celebrate, anyhow? A return to normal, to peace? It was all bullshit, as Savard saw it. Even with one eye, he could still see through the veil. And now that the short-lived border was becoming a thing of the past, Savard was beginning to wonder why there had ever been one in the first place? A meaningless line of dirt in the earth… that’s all it would ever be. And these two parades… they were feeble attempts to gaslight the gullible public into forgetting that there was never a reason that they had to fight. Only to put some wolf’s rump on a meaningless throne, and to be given neither thanks or peace for their sacrifices.
There was, alas, but one part of the parade that Savard found himself drawn to… something that, at least in intent, seemed serious. A ceremony… something to remember the dead by. Someone had finally had an idea worth sharing… and in all his delays, he had fortunately missed the presence of others. Now… it was just him, and the crisp, still water. He had heard about it from a passerby, a ceremony to remember those that had fallen in battle. There were talks held about the war dead, the Imperial losses. But everywhere he went, it was all the same. The soldiers, the Imperial soldiers… those that had given their lives in a battle they would never benefit from nor understand. But never did any wolf speak about those that had nobody who would grieve for them, nobody who would remember them, as if they hadn’t existed at all. They spoke of the Jacobites and the Voxi as vermin… but at the end of it all, they were just wolves, no different than they were.
It had been decreed that the flowery hillside adjacent to the meandering bend was to remain untouched in perpetuity, in memory of those who had sacrificed. But that did not stop Savard from making the trip up to where the flowers were still in bloom, and carefully, selecting the perfect one. It was yellow, vibrantly so, its petals still lush and vibrant, wrapping along itself. He took the tulip into his maw, and gently took it from its spot, descending back to the water’s edge silently. He didn’t seem to care that this was a crime, that somehow his grief was an invalid excuse to be here. He didn’t need one, as far as he was concerned, and come what may, the time he spent here was well worth any fate that came along with it. He soon approached the water’s edge, looking down at his reflection, holding the flower, as he went silent.
He remembered the time he had first met her. He was young, eager to make some quick Renown. She came to him with a job, and he did it. What it was was so long ago… it didn’t matter all that much. Steal some Renown from some prick she knew who owed her… Argo his name was. Of course, upon hearing that he was a difficult wolf, a true towering behemoth, Savard was excited at the challenge. It was easier than he thought, however, the drunken lard far too slow on his paws to keep up. And in a mere evening, he had had the Renown for the lady. It was unusual, in his line of work, for someone to feel so grateful for his services. It was hardly a modest sum, to be sure. But five Renown was all she had asked for… and all that he had. Not enough to steal or rip off… and besides, what she wanted it to go for was something he admired. Her sons, her pups. She stole the money to look after her own.
It was not that much later when Savard came to learn that this Argo was, in fact, her husband. A marriage that was never one she wanted, never had a choice. And he proved to be ever as vicious as he could ever hope to be. A vile creature, who took out everything on her and the pups. And with divorce being illegal, she was trapped. She was never one for the underworld, she was never like they were, never like he was… she had a good heart, and that outweighed anything she did, or was said to have done. Savard found himself drawn to her plight, more often than not keeping tabs on her. It was when he had seen what Argo had done to her, and her sons, that he knew that this could only end one way. Soon enough, she came to him, and asked him for his help. Savard was scum, a terrible fiend that most stayed away from. He’d never forget the day that she sought him out, paying him back with everything she owed him, and then some. And she asked him for one simple request, one last job, and for it to be the conclusion of their business. She asked if she could make Argo disappear.
Disappearances like these were hardly anything so dramatic. Do the deed, get away before you’re seen. But the way she asked him was almost sad… that she didn’t want it to come to this. But at that moment, seeing the pleasing look on her bruised visage, Savard knew that it would be either him, or them. Funny… that in all those years and all those wicked deeds… there was something about this job that felt righteous, that felt… good. Maybe… he wouldn’t always need to be like this, some gutter rat, hiding in the shadows, the wolf you cross to the other side of the street for. She even asked “please”, not just in a polite sense… but in a pleading sense. Please… make him go away. Forever. And by morning… it was done. She wept tears of joy, when he told her, and for the first time in his life, he told the truth to her, a reserved form of it, as he need not tell her anything that would give her pain. But doing what he had done to Argo… it felt right. Maybe… this was a feeling he could feel again. Maybe, him and Malachi could go legitimate, and do away with their crooked dealings, someday.
His memory flashed forward, then, in quick succession. After Argo, he had kept in touch with her, an unlikely friendship that had gone on over the years. He watched over her, never having any reason to do so, but secretly enthralled by her life. She was not clean, not by any means… but she lived her life for the people. She gave away what she could, looked after strangers and passersby as if they were her own kin. And she did her best to raise Finch and Coal. Even if she wasn’t perfect, even if she had her faults, she tried to be her best, day after day. It was… admirable, to say the least, and when compared to himself, she was a saint. It made him feel that maybe, he could be better too, that there was some sort of hope left in saving his soul. He had followed her life all these years, crossing in and out of it as convenience or as need required. And by the time of the war… she had been there for him as much as he had been there for her. There was nothing at all between them… and yet, they both affected each other’s lives in ways that words could not convey.
This world felt so much emptier without her. Every wolf in all of Rionnach stopped their lives when they heard of Nassar’s passing, or for any officer for that matter. They would toll bells and falsely grieve for the common soldiers too, for they had died fighting for a righteous cause. But Savard, who was one of her closest friends, didn’t even know of her death, because there were none to report on it. He had gone to every place he could find her, every safe-house or comfortable inn she would frequent, and would not find her there. His worry grew, day by day… until it took a wolf in the know to break it to him. She had been killed in the fight, a vicious, cowardly attack by an imperial officer seeking to make a name for himself. And in doing so, it took away the closest thing Savard could call a friend. He had been occupied at that time he heard the news, mentally and physically, and never once had the time to grieve, in all his days. He had simply kept it down inside of him, not caring how it felt, pretending that it didn’t eat away at him with every waking moment. She was a capable fighter, but at times… he wished it were him instead of her. He could have done more, he felt. He could have prevented this.
His mind flashed back to the river, his reflection, his paws sinking into the wet, coarse sand. He had thought an awful lot about her, how her absence had affected him. She would hate to see him like this, he knew it so. She wouldn’t even recognize him… but perhaps, maybe, she would understand. She was intelligent like that… but nobody would ever know or remember her for her good qualities. They wouldn’t even remember her name at all. She lived on, in memory, only in his heart. And even if it were best to be remembered by only those who genuinely cared… for her sacrifice to be pushed aside, forgotten, ignored… for everything she had been and gone through to evaporate like smoke, for nobody to take the time to consider her a casualty of this war of theirs, to care that she was no longer here among them, it was tragic. Not even a single flower from her so-called allies. As if she hadn’t existed at all. They might sooner gaslight him into thinking she weren’t real than in remembering her name. Blythe Eleos. Blythe Eleos. Blythe Eleos.
It was tradition, as far as Savard knew, for flowers to be placed stem-first in the river, and for the current to be allowed to bring the flower into the beyond. And yet… it was a Rionnach superstition. Savard knew that that would not do, for her heart belonged in the north. Instead, he put the flower into the river bulb-first, pointing towards her homeland, so far away. She never found the south agreeable, never found it comfortable… but she never let anybody tell her where she could or could not live. She was a free spirit, and now, she always would be. He only hope that she received this flower someday, and that he’d see her again. She had gone home, now, and the concerns of this world would never bother her. She could rest, now… and finally, be remembered for all that she was. The flower fell from Savard’s maw, and slowly, it began to float away into the sunrise, its bulb pointing towards that strange place known as Saora.
Seeing that flower float away was a lot like letting go. He didn’t want to turn away, to say this goodbye, one he never had a chance to. It tore at his heart to know he would never see her likes again. He was reminded of better times, times where they were happier, where they felt content with their lives. Nothing quite felt the same as the day after Argo disappeared… when she realized she was free to live her life, to do whatever she wanted for herself and her kids. And… for a moment, Savard felt that he was a hero. She had made him feel this way… and at his most lost, he had that to fall upon on in times of need… much like the times he were in now. Slowly, the tulip sailed away, almost out of sight, as he watched it go. A desire to reach in and grab it still persisted, though it was too far away now. He didn’t want to let go… he didn’t want to forget her… and yet, he had to. It was what she would have wanted. He struggled with the loss, and with so many others in that moment, a strange emotion coming over him as the tulip’s yellow petals disappeared around the curve. And then, he was alone, once again. Just him, and a singular wet streak, dripping from his remaining eye.
It was taking too long. The collection of bodies parathion demanded. It was hard, because the last few wolves I came across were kind, and just needed some kind of help. The strange pale foreigner, clearly starving yet very timid as if used to the punishing ache of claw and fang. It made me feel sympathetic. And the second one, a woman washed ashore, clearly having gone through hell, and in need of a little help with something.
But what was the difference between that and fighting in the war?
killing in the war.
How could I take lives in the name of some king I don’t even believe in and not in the name of love? Disgusting. I did plan to deflect, which would also please my witch. But I needed to use the status just a little longer, to maybe help cover up the disappearing wolves. As the number will be noticeable. Then after that, I would take my departure from the army. So that I might have freedom. Because if I could not sit that throne, then there was no need fighting, killing, my way up. I refused to bend the knee any longer. It was beneath me, by leagues unfathomable. My pride was trying to siphon off the promise of polished titles and poplar missions. But it was not enough, in the end.
At the beginning of it all the idea was to climb the ranks and squash anyone in my way. That included my own brother. But when I saw that the gain was far less than expected, I knew I had to get out of it all. A waste of time to be beneath the paw of a so called king, beneath many other paws that outranked me. It was infuriating. I didn’t want to bow to a king, I wanted to be a king. Or have freedom, if that throne could not be mine. I was not only deflecting to make Parathion happy, but myself.
Lost in whirring thought, I sat at the edge of the river. Water always helped me clear my head. The crystal, glassy surface allowed my reflection without much protest, only the sound of another down stream would cause my attention to rise. A one eyed sight set upon a male - a familiar one. But joy did not settle in my belly, a weird, twisted sense of dread had instead. Our last run in hadn’t gone so well, his strong dislike for me was palpable though I wasn’t sure it was provoked. Nevertheless, it made brows furrow and a deep frown to set in.
He had something in his possession. A flower, it seemed like. Freshly plucked by the way the bulb still had soil clinging to its frilly roots. He placed it in the water differently than tradition would suggest, then let it float away. I watched the entire thing. I didn’t care for laws and rules anymore. Why should I enforce them for a mockery of a king anyway? Corpulent skull swung back to the reflection. If he and I were on better terms, my curiosity would get the better of me and I’d ask who the memorial was for. The parade had long since dissolved. Of course he would brood alone, coming to mourn or celebrate in solitude. I rolled my eyes. How dramatic. It was my duty to patrol the event today, but I merely walked it. I didn’t care for whatever else could happen. I’m too stressed out over my own problems, trying to solve my own issues rather than uphold Adamh’s.
For the longest time, I had not a clue if I would say anything to him. I looked back at him again, watching, waiting to see what he would do next. "I didn’t know you cared for someone so deeply,"
Baritones muttered, letting my attention once again return to my own battleworn reflection.
