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The ocean is beautiful this time of year. The icy chill of winter hasn't yet risen from the deepest recesses of the water, and yet the warm air sweeping in from the looming spring gives the surface such a tempting glimmer. I suppose I never appreciated the sight while in Dornoch. A labyrinth of stone built into some brutalist echo chamber, however prettied up and painted, is still only that. Regardless, that it was my home for so long grants it a rose-tinted view in my own eyes, even if now I see the faults and cracks I was blind to for years.
There was a time, not so long ago, when leaving this place was a fantasy. A dream, concocted by my own flights of fancy and fueled by the encouragement of another. Together, we would rise above the muck and avarice and find something new, something greater. This world, and those undiscovered lands beyond it, would not escape our vision. When we were finished, all would know our name, and the stories we sought to tell.
That person is gone now. Were it that I could explain to you, or rather, myself, exactly how this came to be, It would have been the first thing written upon this page. In her absence, I feel a void; a dark and cold vacancy where a raging fire once burned. It is funny, I suppose, how something so simple and fleeting can become so important in a relatively short amount of time. My life, in the long run, is unaffected. My position within the army remains, the men and women who serve under me remain staunchly loyal at the sound of my voice. So why, then, does this feel like such a defeat? What are these invisible shambles that my feet crunch down upon with every armored step I take?
Why, despite my reason for departure leaving me behind, do I still find myself staring out at the ocean?
A question of self-worth, at least in part. Despite my stature, my title and accomplishments, I have always thought myself to be little more than a pretender. Now with my glass mask of confidence cracked, I know not if I have the resolve to face another trial. That another test of my resolve could fulfill my own prophecy, could give me the final reason I need to believe my own fears, that is my hubris. A Commander and a Coward. I am both, it would seem.
The seas are wide and fast. It would be so easy to get lost amongst the waves, to allow the tide to carry me wherever it may. I could start anew, forget the pains of the past, never have to draw my sword again. There would be a comfort in that, starting over from scratch. And yet... so too is the ocean terrifying in it's own right. Who is to say I let the wave carry me and find nowhere to go? That this insignificant speck amidst the twin cities of Dalriada is all that I am meant to amount to?
To turn back, and face the pain of moving on, or to venture far and away, and carry the weight of regrets?
It's a question that's plagued me for months now. I fear I'm no closer to the answer. Perhaps I hoped that writing these worries down on parchment would aide me, that recording the turmoil in my own head would assist in finding a resolution, an absolution. Even as the earth beckons me to choose, the sun beating on my forehead, the salty air sticking to my armor, and the itching muscles of a warrior waning from atrophy, I know that I will not choose. Not today. No, I think that I will return once more tomorrow. I will sit upon the dock again and watch the waters.
This space between the absolutes, the line between choices... It is a safe haven, however fleeting. Like a child in the womb, I seek to savor this warmth and safety, if only for just a day longer.
There was a time, not so long ago, when leaving this place was a fantasy. A dream, concocted by my own flights of fancy and fueled by the encouragement of another. Together, we would rise above the muck and avarice and find something new, something greater. This world, and those undiscovered lands beyond it, would not escape our vision. When we were finished, all would know our name, and the stories we sought to tell.
That person is gone now. Were it that I could explain to you, or rather, myself, exactly how this came to be, It would have been the first thing written upon this page. In her absence, I feel a void; a dark and cold vacancy where a raging fire once burned. It is funny, I suppose, how something so simple and fleeting can become so important in a relatively short amount of time. My life, in the long run, is unaffected. My position within the army remains, the men and women who serve under me remain staunchly loyal at the sound of my voice. So why, then, does this feel like such a defeat? What are these invisible shambles that my feet crunch down upon with every armored step I take?
Why, despite my reason for departure leaving me behind, do I still find myself staring out at the ocean?
A question of self-worth, at least in part. Despite my stature, my title and accomplishments, I have always thought myself to be little more than a pretender. Now with my glass mask of confidence cracked, I know not if I have the resolve to face another trial. That another test of my resolve could fulfill my own prophecy, could give me the final reason I need to believe my own fears, that is my hubris. A Commander and a Coward. I am both, it would seem.
The seas are wide and fast. It would be so easy to get lost amongst the waves, to allow the tide to carry me wherever it may. I could start anew, forget the pains of the past, never have to draw my sword again. There would be a comfort in that, starting over from scratch. And yet... so too is the ocean terrifying in it's own right. Who is to say I let the wave carry me and find nowhere to go? That this insignificant speck amidst the twin cities of Dalriada is all that I am meant to amount to?
To turn back, and face the pain of moving on, or to venture far and away, and carry the weight of regrets?
It's a question that's plagued me for months now. I fear I'm no closer to the answer. Perhaps I hoped that writing these worries down on parchment would aide me, that recording the turmoil in my own head would assist in finding a resolution, an absolution. Even as the earth beckons me to choose, the sun beating on my forehead, the salty air sticking to my armor, and the itching muscles of a warrior waning from atrophy, I know that I will not choose. Not today. No, I think that I will return once more tomorrow. I will sit upon the dock again and watch the waters.
This space between the absolutes, the line between choices... It is a safe haven, however fleeting. Like a child in the womb, I seek to savor this warmth and safety, if only for just a day longer.
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