FIC (On Sorrow and Silence( Death Gate Cycle) for indelible fancy Title: On Sorrow and Silence Author: karen Fandom: The Death Gate Cycle Character: Orla Volume 4. The Serpent Mage Rating: general Recipient: written for indeliblefancy's multifandom 'unrequited love' request.
Request Details: "here"

Disclaimer: The Death Gate Cycle is the creation of Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman, all mentioned or characters that appear here belong to them; they are not mine, and are only borrowed for the purposes of the story.

Day 26 of the June Challenge

"On Sorrow and Silence" by Karen

It has become a routine, one that is all too familiar and all too comfortable. It is like she is leading a double life, but after realizing that centuries had passed while she slept, frozen in a magical slumber.

While events and the world outside of the Sartan enclave of the Chalice have changed, not much among the Sartan community has changed. Orla wants to believe that is because of the fundamentally sound beliefs and principles that they have always believed in and held them together; so different from their counterparts, the Patryns, who live by no order, even their own.

She wants to believe that these uncomfortable feelings are due to the presence of a brother Sartan, the one who refuses to reveal his Sartan name and will only allow himself to be addressed by his mensch name, Alfred Montbank. At first Orla was confused and dismayed, troubled by the pain that she could see in both his eyes, and his lined-care-worn face. When she could no longer make her voice in the Sartan Council of Elders, and her husband, Samah, politely and formally excused her presence on the council, Orla had protested, but only enough not to the rock the bock. She is reminded of an old saying from the time before the Sundering: those who live in glass houses should not throw stones.

She glances around at her own orderly, well-kept and beautiful, the roses coming and the petals and stems neatly arranged, at the furniture of heavy oak wood, their placements all planned out, and smiles in fond irritation at both her current house guest and current duty, Alfred, just never seemed capable of entering a room, or another space without his over-sized wayward feet knocking into something. Alfred seemingly had a way of knocking into a glass vase here, a wooden statute there; his elbows sticking out in bony angles. The look on his long-jawed face both mortified and sad at the same time.

She steals a good long look at him, through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the living room where

Alfred sits on a concrete bench, the dog at his feet, stares up at the object of both their attentions.

She wants to help him, and she wonders if possibly, the feelings that she has for stem more from a caring, giving heart, attentions she would gladly give to her husband, Samah, if he cared to return the favor; instead she is focusing those feelings onto Alfred.

They are both old enough to know better, however, they are both old enough not to care. Orla returns her attention to her dusting and polishing of the heavy wood furniture, allowing a small, smile to slip out and curve her lips. She has come to a decision regarding Alfred Montbank, she is in love with him, and he is love with her. "So be it," she whispers.