Title: Someday We May See
Fandom: the song Woman King, by Iron and Wine. OFC-centric.
Rating: PG-13
Length: 700 words
Content notes: Character death.
Summary: Hers was the kingdom, and the toil, and the children, for ever and ever.
Notes: I was thinking of doing the fic exchange jukebox_fest, but decided not to. Still, one of the nominated songs struck me with inspiration, and this is the result! You can read the lyrics here and listen to the song here. Thanks to raspberryhunter for the beta!

She sat at the window, knitting. It was evening, the children asleep in bed, and she ought to sink into the quiet like she usually did, her one place of peace in the day.

But the heat lay on her, oppressive--it hadn't broken into thunder like she thought it would. The clouds were heavy-bellied with rain, dark like bruises on the sky. Between the apple tree and the gable, the washing stirred on the line, the sheets swelling briefly in the fitful breeze. Two shirt-sleeves waved, and her pants swung. She wore pants for the farm work, didn't see the sense in mucking out the barn in long skirts. But not in the house. The neighbors would talk, she supposed.

The laundry must be dry now. She should take it in before the storm broke, if it was going to. But she didn't, just stayed in her chair, the one that had been her grandmother's, knitting. The yarn went through her fingers, stop, start, stop, start. This was work, too, after all.

A black horse fly buzzed, caught inside the window glass. Buzzed like her thoughts. It was the only sound besides the tock, tock of the clock. After a while, she got up, opened the window to let it out.

There was ash on the windowsill from her husband's smoking. She didn't like the smoke in the house, always asked him to do it at the window. She brushed it off absently. Where was he? He ought to be back by now. Well, perhaps he'd just stopped by the Andersons' place.

The sunset was lurid, red against the dark brooding clouds. The sheets billowed, stark white. Knit, purl, knit, purl.

Her mind slowed, bogged down into sleep. Her hands sank into her lap and lost their industry. But she still found no rest. Something was pressing on her, heavy, some portent--wings, fluttering like the washing on the line, but black, black like ravens. And the black mare that her husband rode, the sharp hooves flying, each step making her heart lurch, knowing in the way of dreams what was to come. When it came, the mis-step, the world itself lurching and falling and breaking, white bone sticking through the slick black skin and the red blood--and he fell like a sack of potatoes to the ground. She heard through the buzzing in her head the old dog licking at his head, at the blood there, and whining. Then a crack, though the thing was already done, why now, why--

and she woke to the breaking storm, the thunder.

She shivered with cold. Rain was coming through the window, fat heavy drops of it falling on the windowsill and the floor and her skirts, soaking her through. She should close the window. But she sat there, with the knitting clutched hard in her hands. She let it go, forced her hands into praying, mumbled the words, though the storm drowned them out: "Our Father, which art in heaven--"

"--for thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen."

She unclenched her hands, separated them. She got up and closed the window, wrapped herself in a blanket. It was dark. She closed her eyes, heard the ticking of the clock now that the rain was shut out. What time was it? It didn't matter.

The children hadn't woken, were sleeping through it. She was grateful for that. For herself, she couldn't sleep, only fell into a fitful sort of half-rest, until the faint grey light of early morning came, and gradually brightened into day. The storm had passed.

The knock on the door did not surprise her. She rose, put her damp skirts into order, and opened the door. She did not cry when they told her, only stood there taking in the burden of the news. Neither did she pray.

This land had gone down through her husband's family, from father to son to nephew. But it was hers to have and to hold now, the farm and the rich black earth, the children and the toil and the sorrow. She would inherit the kingdom.