At The End

A/N: Any inaccuracies are my own fault. I wasn't sure what French word Emilie called her grandfather, so for simplicity reasons, I just put it all in English.

She barely stayed awake long enough to do anything beyond opening her mouth to take her medicine, and her body was growing weaker by the day. Her grandfather remained by her bedside, exhausted by his grief, and his fear that if he left, death would come for Emilie. Death was surely on the way, but he refused to let her pass alone.

Ever since she had lost her horses, Emilie had lost all zest for life. Those horses had been the best things that happened to her since the war began, and to have them cruelly snatched from her after losing her parents, had taken too much from her. At first she had sat by the windows, or upon the hill, staring at the surrounding woods, as though the horses would magically return to her. As though wishful thinking and many tearful prayers could bring them back. After a while she just gave up. She remained in her bed, refusing to eat, and awaking only to take her medicine. No words would encourage her to leave her confinement, and it wasn't long until the grief and her illness took its toll on her weak body. Her Grandfather has spent many a night hunched at the table, his gnarled hands clasped over his face trying to stifle his tears.

The sun was rising and casting a warm orange glow over the farmhouse. The grandfather threw open the windows and let the early rays illuminate the room. The first rays of light always made Emilie look like a vibrant and healthy girl. The grandfather looked down at the light on Emilie and smiled at the glow it gave her pale skin. He turned his gaze back outside. He wondered where those horses had gone. Pulling artillery. He didn't hold any hope for them; especially the small Thoroughbred Emile had named François. Horses in the war did not dare well. It was a cruel fate, just as cruel as the fate awaiting his dear Emilie.

Even now the sounds of war sounded in the distance. There is no wind, but he did not need to lie anymore. The ravages of war has taken its toll on his life. The soliders have come for all his food, and will come again. So many innocent lives have been lost, and soon the war will claim another. At times he wishes that Emile had never found those horses in the windmill, however they got there, but then he never would have seen how happy Emilie could be even in these distressing times.

"Grandfather?" The whisper is so soft that he scarcely heard it. He turns to Emilie and sits down beside her, taking one of her tiny, frail hands in his rough, calloused one. His eyes search her face. Her breathing is so shallow."Grandfather?" she asks with more strength in her voice.

He smiles, and his eyes fill with tears. "Yes, my darling. I'm here."

Emilie's eyes flutter open and she smiles. The sickness had glazed her eyes, and taken the sparkle away, but, for now, the gleam has returned. The gleam that she always had before, that mischievious sparkle that her grandfather had always loved. Her smile is weak, but it has been so very long since he saw her smile. "I was flying."

"You were?"

"Yes, I was a bird."

"Were you flying over the war?" His fingers stroke her wrist soothingly.

"Yes. I was scared, but I kept flying. I was very fast."

"I'm sure you were. You're very brave." The tears fall from his eyes, he can feel the tickle on his stubbly cheeks as they make their descent.

Emilie raises her free hand and brushes them away. "No need for tears, Grandfather. Everything will be okay. I will get healthy again, and my horses will return to me."

He takes her hands and kisses it, placing it over his heart. "I know it will, my dearest." He feels so proud of her. She knows her end is coming, and that she will not live to see her horses again, yet she remains so optimistic.

Emilie sighs and looks out the window. "I miss François and Claude. I hope they're all right, wherever they are." Claude and François, named after two boys that broke her heart.

He guards himself, lest he give any indication otherwise. He wouldn't upset her. "I'm sure they are."

"Do you think they are?" Her eyes search his face curiously.

"Of course," he lies.

"I wish I could have ridden François again without being interrupted." She is so young to have regrets, but she does. She regrets not listening to her grandfather. If she had only ridden to the top of the hill the German soldiers may not have seen her and taken François and Claude from her.

He squeezes her hand firmly. "You looked so strong and talented."

Her eyes gleam in a cheeky way. "Do you truly think I was a good rider?"

"Oh, the best."

"Do you think I would be talented enough to ride in the Olympics?"

"Of course. You would have won."

Emilie giggles softly. "Do you remember when I tried to teach François to jump?"

The grandfather laughs, the first time he has done so since Emilie had the horses. "I do," he recalls fondly.

"François was so clever. He simply stepped over the small jump. I don't think he was a jumping horse."

"No, my dear, he was not. He was very fast, though, and very intelligent."

Emilie nods in agreement, her eyes starting to weigh down sleepily. "Yes, he was very fast. And very handsome."

Her grandfather looks away, blinking back tears. He knows their time together is almost at an end. He can see her eyes starting to glaze over again. "Yes," he manages to say hoarsely, his throat constricting, "he was a very handsome beast. They both were."

Her nod is stiff, her eyes falling closed. "Yes, they both were." She squeezes her grandfather's hand gently. She feels so sleepy now. The hand over her grandfather's heart pats gently, she can feel the soothing beat under her palm.

The grandfather closes his eyes, the tears fall fast. He has been dreading this time for so long. Emilie has been such a comfort and joy to have around. He missed her parents, they were so brave and their daughter was too. He doesn't want to think about what the farm will be like with his granddaughter around. She was a bright light even during this time of turmoil. The farm will be a lonely place without her around. Her hand over his heart stops and presses directly against him. "Grandfather?"

"Yes, Emilie?" he askes, clearing his throat.

"I don't think you're a coward." Her eyes open and she stares into his eyes with a faint smile on her pale lips. He cries and gently presses her forehead against his. He releases her hand and wraps both arms around her, hugging her to him. She embraces him back and kisses his whiskery cheek. She tastes the salt of tears upon her lip. It's an odd comfort to her. The embrace is warm and she feels safe in her grandfather's arms.

He feels when the life leaves her body. Her arms slacken and she sags against him. He holds her and cries, burying his face into her soft brown hair. Once he has cried all the tears he can, he lays her back down on the mattress, brushing her long brunette hair back off her face. Despite his grief he cannot help but smile. He sees the smile on Emilie's pale pink lips, and he is happy to know that she passed on with a happy memory in her mind.

He buries her under the tree in the yard. He keeps the sash that she gave him. It is a memory of her that he cannot bear to let go. A breeze stirs the trees and sends leaves on the ground dancing away. Everything is silent and he feels a sense of peace. Wherever his Emilie is she is safe.

Her grandfather's embrace is so warm, safe and comforting. She lays her head against his chest so she can hear his heartbeat and closes her eyes. She can picture it so vividly…. She is back in front of the farm. François and Claude are there, standing patiently in the open farmyard. Emilie hugs Claude's neck, rubbing her cheek against the soft hair. She approches François and slowly strokes his soft nose. She is strong and healthy here. She knows no fear.

Emilie easily climbs up into the saddle upon the back of François, and gazes triumphantly around her. All it takes is a gentle nudge in the sides to make François move. He gallops straight toward the large jump Emilie set up and soars straight over it. He turns with fluent ease and clears it again. His hooves drum against the ground as he gallops out of the yard and up the grassy hill with Claude galloping beside them. They gallop past the windmill and continue on. The land here doesn't end, just stretches on in eternal green. The world whips by in a colourful blur. The colours of the sky, woods and horses forming the perfect tessellation.

She can feel the power of the beast underneath her, can feel the strength in his body. She closes her eyes against the rush of wind and smiles.

No bird can fly this fast. No one knows freedom like this. It is for her, her François and Claude. They are her horses. Now, nobody will take them from her.