Prologue:
“Can you fetch me that pan Kellen?” A beautiful woman with long, blonde hair asked her son this question. He responded to her sweetly, “Okay mother.” His growing body struggled with the weight of the small frying pan; it’s mass pulling him lower and lower to the ground until he couldn’t move anymore. Alicia turned around and saw her son fraught with his burden. She grinned slightly and wiped her hands on a towel she had finished making the day before. Her and Aaron didn’t have much, but Alicia was talented in embroidery and her work was much sought after by traders and travelers that passed by often. With the towel in her hand, she knelt and picked up the pan, which showed its marks of frequent use. The little boy stood waiting after his mother turned her back around, as if expecting something. Alicia realized he was still there, and met his face on her knees.
“Sweetie, what do you need?” He smiled and tilted his face so she could see the side of his face. Laughing at his tenderness, she pulled him forward and kissed his cheek. Then, patting his behind, she sent him to help Aaron. He ran eagerly from the kitchen and out to the barn, just to the right of the house.
Aaron was a good provider, he made sure that his son, and his wife, had all they needed. He was gentle, and when his son slipped on his boots and ran outside, Aaron grabbed him and held him upside down by his feet. The little boy laughed,
“Papa, ah ha, put me down, he he!” He said it playfully, this being a regular occurrence.
“Do you give up?” said Aaron. The boy giggled wildly, unable to breath or speak.
“I give up da! Put me down! Uncle, Uncle!” Aaron smiled then, his boy’s laugh sounded just like Alicia’s. It was light and sweet, like the song of a mockingbird. He put his son down and took his hand.
“Da,” asked the boy, “Da can I milk the cow?” Aaron looked down at his child, his face shining with excitement and desperation to feel like a man.
“No, I’ve got a better job for you.” The boy put his hands together and waited impatiently for his father to speak. Then he couldn’t hold it,“What is it? What can I do?”
Aaron smiled and motioned with his finger, intending for his son to venture closer. The boy came over and leaned in to hear what his father had need of. As Aaron spoke, the lad’s face slowly twisted into a smile. He ran towards the house excitedly. Behind him Aaron chuckled and went into the barn to milk the cow.
Inside the house, the little boy was begging his mother for a pitcher of water. He had tracked mud into the house, all the way through the front room, and into the kitchen. His mother didn’t really want to give him one at the moment. He pleaded,
“Mommy, please da needs it.” Though Alicia was a bit unwilling, she gave him the pitcher. Aaron must have had a good reason for needing the pitcher. The boy ran once more outside, again tracking mud over his old traces. Alicia walked over to the window, what could Aaron possibly want with her pitcher? As her eyes fell upon the barn, there was nothing to see, she then turned around and looked down. There stood her child, soaking wet, holding her pitcher smiling, mud covering his boots. Behind him stood Aaron, trying not to laugh out loud because he knew it was his fault. She laughed, “ Breakfast anyone?” both of her boys were beaming, and both were starving, she obliged their empty bellies.
Breakfast was delicious, as always, and afterwards everyone helped clean up, even the little one. Aaron and Alicia held hands the whole time they ate, and they also held hands the whole time they cleaned the dishes. It was a special tradition to do so, it created unity and harmony, they knew they must be as one or else time would pass and so would their love. Alicia spoke as they put away the pitcher, “What were you two doing out there?” The boy looked like he was going to burst with all the excitement he was holding in.
Aaron let go of Alicia’s hand now that they were done, and quickly put his had over his child’s mouth. “It’s a secret,” he smiled mischievously, “so you have to close your eyes.”
Her son looked at her and shrugged his shoulders adding a sheepish smile. Aaron let go of his son and walked over to Alicia, he put his arms around her waist and his head on her shoulder, whispering in her ear he said, “And it’s just between you and him.” Giggling she kissed him and took the little one’s hand. “Alright, but it had better be a good surprise.” She said to her son, “I don’t want to get something you didn’t put your whole heart into.” The child pulled her and Aaron held her free hand, intertwining his fingers with hers; his other hand covered her eyes.
They walked out into the front, all three holding each other, Alicia in the middle. Aaron let go and her son did as well. Her son's small words penetrated her heart, “Ok open.” She was taken aback at the beautiful site; a rhododendron bush had been planted in front, and all the reasons for using the pitcher came clear.
Alicia loved rhododendrons; they were some of the most beautiful flowers. Alicia kissed her child on the cheek and hugged him. His small fingers were curled around her neck and his cheek was pressed against her face. Her son pulled back, "Smell them Mama." She smiled, she had always loved any kind of flower, but these were her favorite. She slowly walked forward to smell them, as she did, her legs became weak and collapsed from underneath her. Aaron rushed to catch her, she quickly, but painfully pushed herself up though it hurt. Aaron began to look worried, and then she saw Aaron above her, and she could hear his voice and his words, they were quiet, “ Alicia, Alicia, are you ok?” her breathing was slowly becoming raspy. “I’m, I’m fine?” she could not move, and could barely speak. Aaron lifted her up with their child trailing behind, he held her body shakily.
He laid her on their bed; it creaked as he strained to put her pregnant body down. Aaron caught a tear from falling on his face and wiped it away quickly, his whole body could feel, not only the beating of his own heart, but hers. He stood there for only a moment, knowing what was going to happen. Alicia knew as well and she saw the fear in his eyes as he fussed about her. “Aaron,” she was still terrifyingly quiet. "Aaron will you kiss me?” Aaron was trembling and his mind was a blur, but he knelt down by her bed, leaned in, and kissed her letting his lips linger there longer than usual, then he quickly stood up, left, and went to fetch wood. Their child climbed up on the bed, Aaron never minded when he did so. They often had family reading time before bed, just for him. Mama and Da would read him his favorite stories. Tears began to fall from the little boy’s eyes, he knew what was going to happen and he didn’t want it to.
The boy held Alicia’s pallid hand. Both faces were wet from tears, tears that never should have been there. She was young, too young to die. The boy was too young to lose his mother, she was always supposed to be there. He cried and laid his head on her chest, she lovingly stroked his head.
“Don’t go mom.” His voice was choked and uneven. “Oh honey, you will always be mine, no matter what. You and your father are more precious to me than anything in the world. I’m not really leaving, you will always have me.” She slowly and gently closed her blue eyes. They were like a calmed sea. Modain, was at least a merciful disease, it took it's victim's quickly. And it had taken hold of her eyes and paled them to a blue that wasn’t right for such an elegant face. He sidled up to his mother. She was gone. He didn’t understand why she had to leave. Pulling his mother’s hand to his lips, he kissed it, saying,
“It’s ok mommy. I know you were tired.” He crawled off the bed and knelt on the floor. His head lowered, and his blue eyes, much like his mothers, looked down to the earth. Behind the cheerless scene, the door opened, and revealed Aaron who had left for only a moment. He set the wood on the floor and walked over to his son. Kneeling down, the man gently cradled him in trembling arms. His own tears were concealed behind a disheveled beard. He suddenly looked haggard and tired as his hand ran over the boy’s sandy blonde hair. Aaron gently wiped the small tears away from the child’s face, and then stood up, the child in his arms, not making a sound. Aaron could hardly see through his tears, but he did not wish to have to look at his wife's face this way. Aaron wanted to remember her the way she had been, smiling and happy.
“Come, we must prepare to send your mother to Heaven.” He walked out of the room, closing the door. It was all too much and he knew he would have to face the grief, but not now, not in front of the boy.
…………………
After the funeral, a single year passed, where neither father, nor son spoke much to each other. The boy did his chores, milking the cows, and often times cleaning his mother’s room, after his father got done with his fits. The boy would water the rhododendrons every day, gently tilting the petals, so she could see them up in Heaven. They were her favorite. This was something the boy had always known. He shed a tear every time his finger traced the petals. Aaron would do the dishes every night, and every night, he would only eat and clean with one hand, and when it was all finished, every night he would lock himself in his room saying nothing, but you could hear things falling off of shelves and a terrible whimper.
One day, as the little boy was doing his chores, he heard Aaron in the house having another fit. The door opened loudly and his father stormed out making his way to the barn. The boy, rather confused, made his way inside. He found his father’s room trashed with is mother’s stuff strewn around the room; his mothers stuff was never strewn. Outside, there was a loud twang and he heard what sounded like the cows getting out. It frightened him to think that maybe it wasn’t the cows; maybe his father might have hurt himself. He ran out to the barn and opened the door quickly. His father was nowhere to be found. There was a slight breeze above him. He looked up, the sun was shining on his father's face as he hung from a rope, no longer having a care, and no longer within reach of his son.
Chapter 1
Kebbs looked at his burnt hand, cradling it's now fragile frame gently. Boaly grabbed a cloth to relieve him; he had only been an apprentice for two years and this type of thing happened more often then Kebbs liked. Kebbs knew all there was to know about being a blacksmith, despite his lack of experience. Boaly was constantly assuring him that it was okay to make mistakes, but it still frustrated Kebbs that after all his tireless efforts he still couldn't do anything right. Kebbs inquired, “Boaly?” Boaly stood up and set to work; Kebbs followed. “What Kel- Kebbs.” Kebbs twitched slightly as Boaly almost used his real name; he pretended not to notice. “Do you think I’ll ever be as good as you?” Boaly’s booming laugh echoed in the little shop, “You’ll be better.” Kebbs smiled, relishing the thought that he could someday be better. It didn't seem likely, but maybe someday he'd make armor for the king himself.
The sun began to hide it's rays selfishly behind the mountain, creating a purple and orange glow on the clouds. Beams of light hit the forge, glinting off the metal, creating a natural clock which Kebbs was only too familiar with. It was time to go home and he was certainly ready for a warm bath and a hot meal. Kebbs took off his apron and threw it down in the chair; it had been a long, hard day. Boaly had been working all day and was still working as Kebbs headed off. His feet padded along the cobblestones and then on the road, Kebbs squinted as the sun reached into his eyes scraping out memories of his past. Kebbs shuddered, remembering what the sun looked like shining on his father, that day he took his own life. It was a frightening thought, but one Kebbs only too often saw in his dreams. As he neared home he stopped, not wanting to go inside as casually as he always did, putting on a face for Margaret, pretending that he was ok. He wasn't, and every day living in his house made everything worse. He took a breath in and put on a smile, it was all an act, but it was an act he was good at.
"Hello Margaret." His smile was as wide as he could muster.
Margaret was a stout woman, in her mid forties, and her hair was a jet black, reaching all the way down to the floor. Her smile was warm and welcoming something he wished he could feel.
"Hello dear." She turned around and then limped over to him, putting her arms out to her sides for a hug.
When Margaret was little, soldiers had charged into town in pursuit of the outlaw Russell Mills. Margaret had almost been trampled. Boaly, however, pushed her out of the way, but not before her leg was caught in the wheel of a nearby wagon, crippling her for life.
Kebbs clutched her and let his smile drop when his chin rested on her shoulder, letting her hold him long, before he would again go back to being a charlatan, and an alien to pleasant emotions. She squeezed him tightly, her embrace almost comforting Kebbs' long wounded heart. She pulled away and smiled, letting him go, and returned to her cooking.
"Kebbs, would you fetch me that pan above the stove? I can't quite reach it." Kebbs was reminded of that wonderful day, that horrible day, when his mother had asked that same question, only she had used his actual name. How he missed her tender touch.
"Of course Margaret, I'd be only too happy to." He smiled at her and walked over next to the stove. Kebbs reached up easily and unhooked the flat pan from the top,
"This one?" he asked.
"Oh, yes, thank you." replied Marge tenderly.
She was so calm, and so simple. Her happiness, if possible, might just have infected Kebbs if he hadn't such anger and despair growing deep within him. It festered inside of him like an unkempt wound, paining him every day. He wished that he could die, but he refused to allow himself to think so selfishly. Besides, he had a future, a good future.
"Marge, I'm kind of tired. Do you mind if I skip dinner tonight?" Marge crinkled an eyebrow,
"Kebbs, honey, are you ill?" He brushed off her hand from his forhead as she felt it for a temperature. He held her hand then, and smiled,
"No Marge, I'm fine. I'm just tired, Boaly had me doing extra today. There were a lot of orders to fill. Good night Marge." Kebbs turned around and went to his room, his walk was slow and sluggish. The weight of fifteen years pressing down on his shoulders.
I guess I thought "White Assassins" and I expected it to start right in the midst of a whole lotta action and mystery, but you know what, I really like the start to this. There's also this sense that there's a bigger thing happening, which is great. 
I wasn't expecting Alicia to die at all, and I'm kind of wondering how she died D: Her relationship with her son (Kellan, right?) is just too precious ^_^ I kind of giggled at the thought of him tracking mud everywhere, it really felt warm and sweet and was nice to read. 
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