Six/Four, for yes-im-a-demigod on tumblr.

"Who are the candles for, Mom?" pipes the voice of her daughter, Sammy.

Maren glances down at her, strokes her soft, dark hair as she wonders how to explain what she'd thought her little one already knew. "They're... for everyone we lost, during the-"

Sammy cuts her off, impatient. "No, I know what they're for," she says, in a tone that reminds Maren achingly of her father's. "Who are yours for, and Dad's?"

John says nothing, simply sits on the grassy knoll and holds the two of them as tiny lights flicker from distant hilltops. He holds a candle carefully in each hand, as Maren does, and watches the flames dance.

Maren hesitates, and then decides it can't do any harm. "They're for our cepâns, Katarina and Henri. And... for other people who are-were-are-special to us." It's an effort to say their names, but they deserve to be remembered as much as anyone. "Sarah," she says, her voice catching, "and-and Sam."

John's arms tighten almost imperceptibly, and he lets out a shuddering breath. He says nothing, still.

Sammy looks from one candle to the other, to the other, to the other, thoughtfully, and touches each of them in turn.

"Katarina and Henri," she says, her voice as strong as ever. "Sarah," she says, in clear-eyed and bright and unbroken honor of the dead, "and Sam."