A Lion Homeward Bound [PK]

[MapleSunflower 1889]

Spoiler

 

 

A Lion Homeward Bound

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[!] Juliana and Arthur de Lyons dancing in the woods of Petra, Almaris

c. 1903

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Cough. Wheeze. Cough.

Juliana looked upon her mother with pity, pouring water from the pitcher into a glass bowl. Her father briefly dipped a washcloth into the bowl and wrung out the water before placing it on Madeline’s forehead with a deep frown. His hand stroked his wife’s blonde hair with tender care as shallow, crackling breaths sound from the woman’s lungs. Once the Vernhart mother had fallen asleep again, Iulius guided his little daughter into his office. His eyes were dull and bags formed under them, but they looked upon her with care as he spoke softly to the demure girl. 

 

“Your mother is dying. It is best to say your goodbyes soon.” 

 

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Crrrsssp. Crush. Crunch.

 

Dirt formed the backroad paths from Haense. Willow branches danced in the breeze, an ethereal aire to the memorial forest Juliana trekked alone. With everything she had ever owned stored in her little satchel, the woman of twenty years ventured onwards. With her mother and father gone and her elder siblings abandoning her, the youngest Vernhart explored beyond the walls she had never dared venture beyond. 

 

Wispy willows gave way to towering pines as rolling Orenian hills were traversed. Spruce rooftops came into view with chimneys billowing morning breakfast smoke into the air.  Coming upon the town’s square, there were few who were about their day carrying on with their daily chores and errands. Juliana browsed the shops with curiosity, entering upon a blacksmith shop where blades and tools hung for sale. Across the street a man with hair as gold as corn’s examined the wares at an alchemist’s stall. Her lips parted and her breath hitched - but no sound would come. Even when she wished so greatly, Juliana could not muster a word. 

 

“Quit your staring.” An old hag scolded bitterly. Juliana did not answer. “Say something, little girl... Or are you too scared? HA!” The witch laughed from the street whilst waving her staff at the Vernhart. “If you’re not going to speak, then get out of here!”

 

The blond man Juliana’s gaze and she was shaken from her thoughts; Her back straightened as she quickly turned to look elsewhere in the shop. The man crossed the road and approached the women with a frown. “If she has no desire to speak, then leave her be.” The old woman huffed and departed with her nose stuck high in the air! 

 

“Thank you.” Juliana’s soft voice spoke just barely above a whisper. 

“You’re welcome.” The Petran soldier’s gauntlet extended to Juliana, green eyes sparkling as he spoke kindly, “I’m Arthur.”

“Juliana.” She greeted, meeting the hand with a shake. 

 

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 Squish. Squash. Squelch.

 

The Silent Lamb, as she was now known, learned to fight amongst the other Petrans and gladly joined the ranks of the Sons of Petra. Some days were filled with training and hunts whilst others of laughter and camaraderie. Her bond with Arthur de Lyons grew and soon they were wed. Juliana found herself a mother to Robyn and Elaine and still expecting others. There was nothing else Juliana could have asked for when she moved to Petra. 

The streets stained black with blood that oozed with malice - a war between brothers-in-arms and a husband and wife. The Castle Moere was the start of it all and not an inch of it had gone untainted. Crimson splattered across every surface, including the furthest corner of the court. The expectant de Lyons mother knelt there where blood left no sight of the floor and walls beneath and laid a trembling hand upon the surface, pressing the pads of her fingertips into the drying liquid. Her head bowed low and brunette curls shield her visage from the view of those still lingering who had survived the storm of raiders and nefarious creatures. 

 

“Arthur…” She exhaled with a tremor in her soft tone while tears streamed down her olive cheeks, droplets of saltwater mixing with her husband’s spilled life. 

 

Juliana was left alone once more.

The first person she had ever spoken a word to was gone. 

And with his death, a piece of her died too. 

 

The Silent Lamb was reduced, once more, to silence. 

 

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Sssrrrhk, Crrrrrp, Snip.

 

The tearing of fabric could be heard throughout her little sewing room in Enderoca, only to be heard by herself and the servants that would come to attend to her. Every day was the same. Living in lonesome despite a full house. 

 

Dull frosty eyes gazed outside the little stained glass window before they fell upon her handiwork with great frustration. The trembling of her hands. It proved more and more difficult to complete her duties. Setting her scissors aside and grabbing her cane, Juliana went to go for a walk by the sparkling sea.
 

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Cough. Wheeze. Cough.

 

The snow-white handkerchief stained crimson and putrid yellow-green. Juliana knew what it was. She had seen it before. Thus, she knew it was time. It progressed slowly. She had time to prepare. 

 

Every inhale and exhale crackled, every breath like climbing a thousand-story castle. Delirium had set in long ago as the fever ravaged her small frame. In moments of clarity, Juliana spoke to her family: her grandson Tristian, her great-grandson Samuel, and friends of old and new. Each so dearly loved and hugged as memories were shared with teary eyes.

Now she sat with her eldest son, her baby boy, Robert. They stared at each other for a long time, the weight of reality began to set in. So many decades of anger and grief plagued them each, butting them against one another. Now death came. 

 

Robyn sat beside his mother and began signing to her. ‘I’m sorry I was not a good son.’ Juliana’s lips thinned into a frown as she shook her head, silvery locks brushing against the pillow they lay upon. ‘I am sorry I was not a good mother.’ The mother’s movements were almost indecipherable by her uncontrollable shaking.

 

Tears welled within the patriarch de Lyons and the woman’s hand rested upon her son’s, the other attempting to reach for the red ribbon tied within her hair. Robyn gently pulled on it, the crimson silk sliding carefully from her thinned hair. The curls fell into place and lined her frail visage. She signed, finally, ‘I used to wrap it around the flowers I’d always give your father. Keep it safe for me.’ Robyn gripped it tight and nodded. He began to rise from his kneel, but the old woman pulled on his sleeve.

 

‘Will you stay with me?’  She asked. 

 

“I will.” He answered. 

 

Holding the hand of her son, Juliana shut her eyes a final time hearing only the sounds of her own breath and the sweet aroma of fresh flowers at her bedside. 

 

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The air was thick with the earthy aroma of vegetation and damp peat. A musty, almost sweet smell that hints at the slow processes of decomposition at work stung her nostrils. The soothing murmur of water flowing through moss accompanied by the occasional melodic call of birds hidden amongst the trees flitted from the silence. The steady hum of insects form a musical drone that underscores the serene stillness of the landscape. The ground under her feet was spongy and soft as she sank into the waterlogged mud. Water-loving creatures swam in the bog and tickled her skin, a few even ribbiting in the near distance.

 

Their slimy touch caused Juliana to jolt awake, the sunlight just barely peeping through the trees above. The water glistened at her feet as the stagnant pools reflected the muted light. Lush moss carpets the ground and blooms of orchids blossom within the swampland. The woman’s lips part, the taste of cool, humid air carried the twang of mineral-rich water.

 

In the distance, a figure could be seen lying in the reeds. Juliana took a few steps toward it; The water splashed with resistance making her trek a struggle. Illuminated by the dim light of the forest, the frame of an armored man stands tall. His armor was heavily worn by war and patches of blackened vegetation and traces of mildew decay where they stuck to him. Blond locks stuck to his forehead, slicked down by the mucky waters he once laid in. His countenance was a ghostly pale and green eyes that looked upon the de Lyons with bittersweet sorrow. His gauntlet extends to her, water dripping from his fingertips and rippling the bog’s surface below.

“Arthur.”

 

Juliana’s hand stretched forth as she walked toward him. The water was easy on her path, as if she could glide through it like a blade into flesh. Her hand joined his, their digits intertwining tight with fear - as if they would be taken from each other once more. 

 

Juliana lowered herself to sit in the water, soaking the white dress she wore. With her husband beside her holding her tight, the woman slowly laid back into the cold embrace of the bog. Her body sunk into the mud as the surface closed over her; A final, silent surrender of life. 

 

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Juliana Rosemarie de Lyons

8 BA - 117 BA

 

Spoiler

Thank you to everyone who got to be apart of Juliana's story - it's one that really rips at my heartstrings UGH 

 

Major thanks to Alamo, Malloc, Lazybacon, and all the other de Lyons for turning this family from one little family to something truly beyond what I could have ever imagined. Biggest thanks of all to Gilded/Andustar, it's kinda crazy how none of this would have happened and we wouldn't have been friends if we hadn't just logged on at the same time on a random Saturday and some random old lazy didn't harass Juliana in Petra. It's been an honor to build this house with you. Thank you to old Petra, pre-war, that was the most fun I ever had and I still miss all the Son of Petra folks. Thank you to Balian folks for giving us refuge after the war and for also being apart of her story.

 

Welp! Onto greater things, my friends!

 

[Andustar 4143]

"Juliana."

Arthur de Lyons took the hand of his beloved wife, from whom he had been parted for too long. Whatever lay beyond, the Lionhearted knight always knew they would face it together. The path ahead was dark and murky, and the old world's certainties now lay beyond reach. And yet, the promise of an eternal rest and hope of brighter days fuelled their stride into the next life.

[Chorale__ 2147]

Sir Laurens Henri Halcourt wept for his long lost friend Arthur and now, his beloved widow Juliana. He fondly remembered moments in their younger years, praying that God wouldn't take him next.

[SmartScout 392]

The once young boy, now an old man, sat by his mother's side as she faded from this world to the skies, as a few tears would roll down his cheeks, muttering to himself "You are finally with Papa now, Mother...where you always wanted to be...perhaps I shall hear your voice again one day, when I join you both...refresh the almost faded memories..." as a few more tears would slip down his usually hard, stoic face, as he'd look upon his faded mother, clasping the ribbon in his hand, turning it between his fingers "And make up for lost time...farewell, Mother..."