wickedgoodbooks:

The Best Man – A Downhill Ficlet

A/N:

hello hello hello my dears!

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Almost exactly 6 months. Kind of neat to have both Downhill anniversaries (beginning and conclusion) spread out so evenly over the year.

Whilst I’m not making any promises to keep up posting a ficlet for each and every one of them, I think a lot of you have come to expect it (as have I, to be honest). Well, and some of you have seen my announcement on tumblr, of course, so it’s not going to be much of a surprise.

Anyway.

I didn’t think I would manage to write this in time, but I did. It’s unbeta’d for once, but since the date is important, I do not want to wait to share.

You guys know by now how much this story means to me, not just for the writing journey it has been, but also for the personal experiences and connections I’ve made because of it. Most notably of all with Robin, the woman who shared so much with me, who’s given me so much more than I would have ever dared ask for, whose loss inspired me to write the epilogue, whose friendship was one of the most unexpected and most joyful things to happen to me in the past year. A friendship and exchange that I carry within my skin.

So, today, on the first anniversary of Downhill’s conclusion, I want to keep spreading the love that I’ve received thanks to this story. The kind of love that every person deserves.

I hope that this wee ficlet might be another reminder that, even with all the hurt in the world, there is still light to be found.

And to Nick, you are still very much loved.

[Downhill Masterlist]

Am Fear Comhailteach (The Best Man) - A Downhill Ficlet

It was a grand day.

No, a perfect day if ever there was one as far as Brian Fraser was concerned. He was alive, lungs filled with crisp Lallybroch air. He was well, not a single kink in joint or bone to weigh his step. He was content as well, basking in the knowledge that every person who held a piece of his heart was here with him. Even the weather seemed to be in a celebratory mood. For once unobstructed by cloud, fog, or any other sort of grey, atmospheric matter, the Highland sun delivered a brilliance that lit up the land as much as his soul.

All those things in their own right would have been enough of a blessing, but there was one juicy cherry added on top of this already picture-perfect Sunday: the wedding that lay ahead of him. Quite literally. Looking out from what used to be his beloved Ellen’s studio, feeling his first love’s spirit linger in the walls of his ancestral home, he had a prime view of the chosen venue for the imminent nuptials. Nestled into the grove of Rowan trees on the southern slope, Brian could make out his daughter Jenny sweeping up and down the aisle, directing arriving guests to their seats. Her husband Ian—the man who’d stolen her across the Atlantic—wasn’t far off, disentangling their youngest’s braid from one of the thistle arrangements festooning the dais. A flash of copper to the left told him that Jamie was also smack in the middle of the growing crowd.

The sight filled him with so much joy that he thought he might burst from it. Having all of his family come together like this was a rare occurrence in the best of times, and unattainable in the worst. That those dark years were behind him now, that his life had taken a turn for the brighter side, leading him to this moment, had one reason, and one reason only. And she was currently cussing and cursing in a way that would have put a sailor to shame.

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