The Will to Carry on

Sen rode off with Kai in the early morning to find a place to practice. Bard meanwhile cleaned his instruments and did their much-needed upkeep. He noticed the signs of dying strings and other dings and dents from their travels. He replaced what he could, but realized with growing urgency that they would need to scavenge in the ruins soon.

While he thought on that, Father leaned down and became cozy near him. Bard enjoyed hearing his song, and knowing he was more alert or attentive today, put his heart at ease.

“Bard.” He heard Father’s melodic deep voice hum. “It seems you stumbled on the crux of the issue surrounding your pledge last night.”

“So you were listening,” Bard remarked with a grin. “Though. Thank you for stepping back. I think… well, it helped.”

“You’re welcome. There are many things I do not have to tell you. You are wiser than most your age.”

“And yet, here we are,” Bard remarked, knowing he was going to point out something he hadn’t given much thought to, or some reality he had to face. He heard Father chuckle a bit.

“Here we are.” His pause seemed to ground Bard for what he would say next. “You know how she will outlive you.”

“Yes, we discussed that a lot last night.”

“And do you resent that?” Father asked. Bard paused his work and thought on it for a bit.

“No. Though… I wish I had more time.”

“That is the truth of love. It is never long enough,” Father said with a deep understanding. Bard’s mind began to imagine what the future might bring, assuming no shades or war took them first. He saw many children, though they seemed young despite him growing old. Sen too remained fairly the same while he aged and eventually died. A part of him didn’t want to imagine what came next, but his imagination was uncooperative. It saw her raising the kids alone, and he felt saddened, so his mind put her with another whom she had more children with and who took care of his as well. Some left and formed their own families.

Bard couldn’t say that some part of him didn’t sting at it, but at the same time, what more could he do? He wouldn’t live very long in comparison, and he didn’t want her to be on her own, especially after watching her father grieving for so long and having seen so many others amongst the humans who had to find someone else to help in order to survive.

“I don’t fear her future,” he said, more to convince himself. “I don’t fear her moving forward when I am gone… But,” his hands clenched as he kept some tears at bay. “I do… grieve… that I won’t be able to be beside her for all of it.”

Father’s branch came down and wrapped him a bit.

“That grief, is not weakness.” He said calmly, and Bard remained quiet. “You do not love less because you wish for more time. Nor are you selfish for mourning the days you will not see.” His branch slightly uncurled and Bard looked up at the old tree. “The pain is your proof that all this was worth it.” Bard closed his eyes as he absorbed what Father said. As he thought on it, Father continued.

“You cannot give her forever. But you can give her something that remains.”

“What do you mean?” Bard asked, curious and a bit hopeful.

“Build something strong. Not just walls, but a home. Not just protection, but a refuge. Do not be so focused on the time you do not have that you waste the time you do.”

It made sense, and reminded him of his thoughts regarding Sen’s Father.

“What if I don’t know how?”

“Then let me teach you.” Father’s branches reached down and moved some rocks and dead branches around. “A house is built with hands. A home is built with intention.” He stacked them neatly, as if his branches had become human hands. “Strong walls, not to keep the world out, but to hold love in. A foundation, not to trap her in place, but to give her somewhere to return to.” He paused and Bard noted the somewhat completed structure. “Give her that, and it will outlast both of you.”

Think on his imaginary idea of the future, Bard questioned. “And if she builds another home someday?”

“Then be proud you laid the first stone.” Father said softly, a branch ruffling his hair. “You are still young. Not necessarily young in human terms, but to time… you are young. She is also younger still. The children you two have will die before she does, which is something the two of you will have to make peace with. It may be hard for her to imagine, harder still to accept. But that is why, the home you build will need to be something she can return to.”

Bard let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Father always had a way of handling the heavy topics.

“Build it well, Bard. And… so you are aware. She doesn’t fear the time you two will not have. She knew that when she suggested the Pledge to save your life. She chose to love you anyway. And she will choose to carry on once you are gone. That is not sorrow. It is love enduring.”

Bard became quiet as he picked up his violin. The idea that their lives would become a song was soothing, though it would come to an end. Eventually her song would join with another, at least, he hoped it would. This world was far too cruel to the song-less or the single melodies. Shades seemed bent on silencing everything, and she would need another to help her.

“I wouldn’t want her to be alone,” he said softly.

Father didn’t say anything and Bard returned to his work with his instruments, this mind fairly distracted with thoughts on the conversation. When Sen returned, she washed her hair and her and Father left to discuss her token.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

Sen discussed many things with Father, but his tone shifted when they came to a small lake.

“You knew what you were getting into.” He said in Asternum. Father gently placed her by the water’s edge. Sen, feeling restless with all this talk, chose to throw rocks at the water, hoping to find a skipping stone.

“I did,” she answered. She threw another rock, spying a skipping stone.

“And yet, here you are, looking like someone who is still trying to convince herself of that.” Sen bit her lip, feeling it protest at all the biting she had done lately. She licked it instead. She figured he would catch on. Far too observant. Father remained quiet while she threw a few other rocks, none skipping like she had hoped. She let out a long breath.

“I knew… in the way that we understand fire burns, but we haven’t yet been burned.” She grabbed another stone and prepared to throw it.

“And now?” She faltered and then re-steadied herself before answering.

“Now I feel the heat.” Her answer came with a bit of force as she threw the stone, it finally making a single skip. A single tear came, and she wiped it away with her sleeve as she searched for another rock. This conversation was uncomfortable. She knew Bard would pass away before her, but the conversation last night had made it more real. She wasn’t even sure how long their kids would last, either, and she didn’t want to be alone.

“Tell me, Sen… when that fire comes—when it consumes everything—what will you do?”

Sen hesitated, unable to look his way.

“I don’t know.” Her answer was barely an audible whisper.

Father remained quiet, and she heard him as he moved into the water. Her gaze was forced to look at him as he moved a branch to her. She climbed on and he walked out. The current below showed on the waves that pushed around Father.

“Look at the water. It moves forward, always. But do you know what it carries?” He asked. Sen looked at it, seeing fish and floating debris. Sen shrugged, not sure what he was pointing out. “Every rock it has ever touched. Every leaf that ever floated upon it. Every storm that ever broke across its surface. They are not gone. They are carried forward. As he will be.”

Sen started to bite her lip and then stopped, shivering as she rolled her shoulders. She heard Father chuckle ever so slightly at her reaction.

“You will not be alone, child. You will carry him. But you must decide if you are willing to bear that weight.”

Sen didn’t have much to say to that… she rode on in silence, a stone still in her hands.

“You still have time to walk away,” he said.

Her breath caught as she froze, and then she glared and scowled.

“What?” she growled out. She is about to refute him when he speaks up.

“If it’s too much. If you change your mind. You wouldn’t be weak for it.” His tone seemed to convey it more as a passing thought than an order, and Sen tried to fight back her anger at his words.

“And you think I would?”

“I think you still don’t fully understand the weight of what you are choosing.” He answered with a gentle tone.

“I know what I want,” she pouted.

“Maybe. Love is like this. A home you build, piece by piece. And when the storm comes, if the foundation isn’t set right, it won’t stand.”

“Then I’ll make it stronger.”

“Good.” They climbed out on the other side and Sen climbed down, returning to skipping her rocks. This time it went four hops across the water. “A home is not just walls, child. It is the way the air smells when you wake up in the morning. It is the songs you hum to your children. It is the way you place a cup down on the table, because you remember the sound he made when he did the same.” Sen felt more tears come as Father spoke. “He will leave these things behind, if you are wise enough to keep them.”

She found another rock and exhaled some of her sadness.

“I will.”

“Then your home will never be empty, and you will never be alone,” Father said calmly. She looked over as a token appeared in his branches. She shook her head as tears fell. It wasn’t approval, it was a full token. As she reached for it, he offered a final parting wisdom.

“Love is not measured in years. It is measured in how well we carry it.” She curled her fingers around the token. “Carry him well.” She blinked, swallowing against the lump in her throat.

“I will.”

“Then you will never truly lose him.”