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31_days2006-11-23 10:48 pm
sophiap.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2006-11-23 10:48 pm
[Nov. 23] [Avatar] For now
Title: For now
Day/Theme: November 23 - o love, be fed with apples while you may
Series: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Character/Pairing: Chief Arnook
Rating: PG
When Arnook put his daughter into the spirit pool in a last, desperate attempt at healing, part of him never expected it to work. But when his daughter cried out and he pulled her--healthy and white-haired--from the water, he didn't even pause before thanking the spirits for giving him his daughter back.
For now, came a warning, barely heard. It seemed to come from the waters. It seemed to come from the sky.
Even without those two words, Arnook would have treasured every following moment with his little girl, but sometimes as he watched her as she was at her lessons, or playing with her friends, or even just sleeping, he would hear those two words echoing not just in his brain, but deep in his bones.
Sometimes, he tried to tell himself that the spirits had a different view of time, and that to them, a life of eighty or even ninety years was so short it couldn't even be considered fleeting. He told himself that, and knew it was a lie.
So, he did what he could to make sure that she enjoyed what little time she had been given (forty years--maybe she'd have forty years, and maybe she'd live to see grandchildren). He was careful to make sure that she wasn't spoiled. Having everything meant that you were grateful for nothing, and he wanted for Yue to understand the kind of thankfulness he felt every time she smiled at him, or pursed her mouth when she thought of something that vexed or puzzled her. Every time she laughed, he tried to listen with his whole body, but those two words would always be there, right under the laughter--for now.
There were times when Arnook came very close to hating those two spirits. It didn't matter if it was blasphemy, or if the ocean swallowed him or the moon crushed him for thinking such thoughts.
(On Yue's fifteenth birthday, he watched his daughter as she debated which of the rare, imported fruits she would sample first, her hand hovering first over a plump blackberry, then over a pink-cheeked apple, then over a voluptuous, bronzy pear.)
The spirits gave him back his daughter. For that, he would be forever grateful.
(She took the apple and bit into it, eyes closing in pleasure and her left hand coming up beneath her chin to catch the juice that was running down. It was better than last year's, she said, and she imagined that next year's would be even better.)
But one of them, perhaps out of misguided kindness, or perhaps out of a desire to remind him of his place, had with two words put a most terrible curse on him.
(She caught him watching her, and after a moment's red-faced hesitation, asked her father why he looked so sad.)
A curse, because he could never not wonder if this would be the last birthday apple she would eat, or if this would be the last time she would go sledding, the last time she would laugh, the last time she would pet a cat or brush her hair, tell a joke or sing a song, tell him good morning or...
Why did he have to know this? Why couldn't he have been left in ignorance rather than wondering if the next minute would be the last. But even as he thought that, he knew the answer.
He watched her as she turned and hugged a friend of hers and reminded himself to be grateful for what he had while he had it. And if he thought too often about those terrible words, for now, he would be grateful for that as well.
At least he knew now that he had to watch every moment and every movement, to study his daughter and fix her in his mind. And for all that he hated thinking about for now, how much worse would it be to try to gather up random scraps of memory, tossed aside in the moment as insignificant?
Because, as cruel as for now could be, if only was crueller by far.
Day/Theme: November 23 - o love, be fed with apples while you may
Series: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Character/Pairing: Chief Arnook
Rating: PG
When Arnook put his daughter into the spirit pool in a last, desperate attempt at healing, part of him never expected it to work. But when his daughter cried out and he pulled her--healthy and white-haired--from the water, he didn't even pause before thanking the spirits for giving him his daughter back.
For now, came a warning, barely heard. It seemed to come from the waters. It seemed to come from the sky.
Even without those two words, Arnook would have treasured every following moment with his little girl, but sometimes as he watched her as she was at her lessons, or playing with her friends, or even just sleeping, he would hear those two words echoing not just in his brain, but deep in his bones.
Sometimes, he tried to tell himself that the spirits had a different view of time, and that to them, a life of eighty or even ninety years was so short it couldn't even be considered fleeting. He told himself that, and knew it was a lie.
So, he did what he could to make sure that she enjoyed what little time she had been given (forty years--maybe she'd have forty years, and maybe she'd live to see grandchildren). He was careful to make sure that she wasn't spoiled. Having everything meant that you were grateful for nothing, and he wanted for Yue to understand the kind of thankfulness he felt every time she smiled at him, or pursed her mouth when she thought of something that vexed or puzzled her. Every time she laughed, he tried to listen with his whole body, but those two words would always be there, right under the laughter--for now.
There were times when Arnook came very close to hating those two spirits. It didn't matter if it was blasphemy, or if the ocean swallowed him or the moon crushed him for thinking such thoughts.
(On Yue's fifteenth birthday, he watched his daughter as she debated which of the rare, imported fruits she would sample first, her hand hovering first over a plump blackberry, then over a pink-cheeked apple, then over a voluptuous, bronzy pear.)
The spirits gave him back his daughter. For that, he would be forever grateful.
(She took the apple and bit into it, eyes closing in pleasure and her left hand coming up beneath her chin to catch the juice that was running down. It was better than last year's, she said, and she imagined that next year's would be even better.)
But one of them, perhaps out of misguided kindness, or perhaps out of a desire to remind him of his place, had with two words put a most terrible curse on him.
(She caught him watching her, and after a moment's red-faced hesitation, asked her father why he looked so sad.)
A curse, because he could never not wonder if this would be the last birthday apple she would eat, or if this would be the last time she would go sledding, the last time she would laugh, the last time she would pet a cat or brush her hair, tell a joke or sing a song, tell him good morning or...
Why did he have to know this? Why couldn't he have been left in ignorance rather than wondering if the next minute would be the last. But even as he thought that, he knew the answer.
He watched her as she turned and hugged a friend of hers and reminded himself to be grateful for what he had while he had it. And if he thought too often about those terrible words, for now, he would be grateful for that as well.
At least he knew now that he had to watch every moment and every movement, to study his daughter and fix her in his mind. And for all that he hated thinking about for now, how much worse would it be to try to gather up random scraps of memory, tossed aside in the moment as insignificant?
Because, as cruel as for now could be, if only was crueller by far.