Work Text:
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness.
“Oh, Arthur.”
The dirt dampened Mary’s dress where she knelt, fingers carefully tracing the words that had been etched into the wood with such care. Who buried him, she didn’t know. But here he was, facing the West. The sweet summer rain had let the most beautiful flowers bloom, vibrant oranges and reds. Not unlike the one he’d plucked and gently tucked into her hair when they were so much younger. “There,” he’d said plainly, calloused fingers so tender as they brushed her ear. She’d looked up at him, unable to contain her smile as her stomach fluttered in that silly, girlish way unique to the first few weeks of a young courtship.
Maybe in another life, one where time and people had been kinder to them both, he would’ve come home to her instead of a grave. At least it was a peaceful spot. He would’ve liked that, she thinks. He hadn’t known much peace in life.
The soft wind tickled her face as she bowed her head, hands folding in her lap, fingers intertwined tightly as if they were the only things keeping her together. Just as the chirping of the birds far overhead comes and goes, so do the sweetest of memories.
His voice, low and breathless, as he whispered promises against her skin. Those hands so accustomed to bloodshed and violence full of nothing but devotion as he held her close. Those same hands holding her trembling ones as he knelt, asking her if she would be his. The ring had fit perfectly, just as his body fit against hers. Something bittersweet welled up inside her chest, threatening to crack and spill over the ground where his body lay. Her eyes stung, and she shook her head sadly. This wasn’t how life was supposed to go.
Not for him. Not for her.
As tears fell onto the delicate fabric of her dress, Mary let herself dream. The same silly dream she never seemed to able to forget. A life where she hadn’t given him that ring back.
A life where they had wed in the springtime, and had a little house of their own. A life where a bassinet rocked gently in the next room over as he kissed her long and slow, whiskey and smoke and warmth enveloping her senses. A life where he held her like they had all the time in the world. Because they did.
She pressed a hand to her quivering lips, but a sob escaped anyway. She didn’t know why she bothered trying to hide it when there was no one around. Maybe it was because Arthur always hated seeing her cry.
The soft crunch of a leaf startled her, and for a fleeting moment, she had the silliest thought it was somehow him, coming to wipe away her tears.
It wasn’t.
It was only a doe.