27 Mortal Ques (1/2)
”Haha! You beat those bowlegged crooks silly! My, how I wish I could have seen it!” shouted Old Thane as he wiped his mouth and put down his mug. Unlike most days, there wasn't water topping it, but beer, the frothy white foam bubbling deliciously.
Li swished the beer around his own mug, looking at his amber-shaded reflection. His expression had a slight smile to it, but he couldn't quite place it, but the smile wasn't quite full, not like it used to be.
”Yeah, I really did beat some sense into them,” said Li. He sighed. ”You know, old man, haven't you ever wondered?”
”Bout' what, lad?” said Old Thane.
”About me. I know you're sharp despite how loud you can get, and I know you know that I'm something much more than meets the eye.”
Old Thane laughed. ”None of that is important, lad. I said I would never expect more from you than I would any old farmhand, and my word is something I never go back on. It matters not whether you be some exiled warrior of legend, some divine spirit, or even a demon. To me, you are my most valued farmhand, one who will carry the labor of my hands beyond my life, one who has already given much honor to Aine and myself.”
Li nodded before he took his head back and emptied his mug out. He looked out the window. The night was bright enough that moon and starlight beamed in, illuminating the firelit cottage with beams of ethereal white.
”You're right, old man, I don't know why I asked.” Li cupped his mug with both hands. ”Say, with you and that infinite wisdom you always boast about, mind hearing me out? I want your opinion on something.”
”Oh? You're such a bright lad that it's been so long since you've asked me anything. Once you got a grasp of this old farm in that wondrous head of yours, you never had to ask of me anything.”
”Well, this isn't about farming.” Li looked back at the window, his eyes tracing a ray of silvery white moonlight that crossed Old Thane's face, highlighting his wrinkles. ”But I have this…pendant. A wooden pendant. It's from my homeland, and it reminds me of my past. Good and bad memories both, to the point where I'm not sure it's wholly a good thing or not.
I know that whenever I look at it, feel it, I'm holding myself back, looking in reverse instead of forwards, but I know that the moment I toss it away and look to the future, I'm never getting it back. But at the same time, it's rotting away regardless of what I do.
Do I hold onto it? Toss it away? Repair it, even, knowing that it will never be the same regardless?”
Old Thane scratched his beard and grunted. ”Aye, well, you may be staring at the wrong old man for an answer, young lad. The past is all I have. I live for the memories of what I have done and what I had. I farm now to give peace to a lifetime that has lived through chaos. I am friendless and loveless to honor friendships and a love that have blessed me several lifetimes over.
He paused. ”The past is precious, son. What better proof of a full life is there than a rich past? What better way am I reminded that these beaten hands of mine have wrought the greatest of fortunes and the greatest of miseries both than the memories of times gone by?
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But the past can also be an anchor, and a heavy one at that. Some men waste away the best years of their lives pining for the glory of a past far gone. You see, lad, the past is only precious when there is a present and future to compare it too. Keep the pendant, but do not halt its rot. When the time comes, let it become dust, but before then, cherish it, and only then will you truly appreciate that which you have let go.”