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A man can easily get lost in his own thoughts, in his memories. Contemplating what was, what had been, and what could have been. The wind blowing through the grass, ruffling the leaves, made it even easier to forget this reality and fall head first into what-ifs.
So when a man, with so many memories to get lost in, falls into the maze of his mind, he remembers fields of old, so very different from the ones he rested in now. He remembers the hard labor of his past home. He remembers working to survive and barely getting by under the King's rule. He remembers the news of a little town asking their kingdom for help, and he remembers being forced out of his home and into this little town just so the King could stake his claim on the land. He remembers the cycle of labor and struggling continuing without fault in a place he knew nothing of.
The man remembers a prince, exiled from his kingdom. The man remembers the prince's talk of revolution. The man remembers shaking the prince’s hand with a smile. The man remembers Esmor, but he doesn't need to merely remember Ulidell, the rolling fields and thick forests the young prince had claimed. He didn't need to remember it when here he stood within its kingdom walls, he didn't need to remember when all he had to do is open to eyes and watch the flowers bloom.
Finally, he remembers his son. And he falls even deeper into his thoughts. He remembers blood, he remembers regret, he remembers teaching the young boy how to wield a sword, only to eventually watch the boy’s weapon fall from his hand as his body collapsed shortly after.
He remembers the funeral especially well, he remembers tears, he remembers shouting, he remembers the pity of others. He remembers the letter sent to him by the royal guard, explaining what crimes his son had supposedly committed to warrant his demise, and he remembers not believing it for a second.
He remembers friends telling him to take a break to mourn, he remembers allies providing help when it wasn’t needed because they knew he was struggling. He had never taken a break, or accepted the offered help. He had a revolution to fight in, a war of freedom to win. He had a new king to fight for, he would mourn later, but he had been determined to keep others from meeting the same fate as his boy.
The man has since mourned, after their kingdom walls had been rebuilt. Though, no amount of mourning would make the memories any less painful. Though he had always stopped himself from falling deeper, he had always been able to pull himself out of that maze. Today, however, he could only say that he tried.
He remembers the other deaths, remembers watching half his troop be beheaded by merciless hands. He remembers being called a traitor by his former kingdom, the place he had foolishly called home. He remembers the prince smiling warmly when the man told him as much, giving him a warm welcome home, as he was now officially a citizen of Ulidell.
He remembers being tasked with training innocent civilians how to kill, he remembers how eager they were to learn, how determined they were for their freedom. How desperate he was for such a thing as well.
The man had started as a farmer's son, his father teaching him how to fight, just as he taught his own son. His father died long ago, now the man tended to his fields by his lonesome. And yet it had seemed that almost in an instant, the man found himself as the second in command to a revolutionary leader and soon-to-be king. He had been known for treating his troops like family, new recruits like the son he had lost.
He was remembered fondly by the people he fought beside, just as he remembers them in this moment. He remembers the final battle of that reckless revolution, the man remembers walking through Esmor’s market, as he often used to. This time, however, he was chained and bound, walking alongside the people he fought with, the people he cared about, the people who would never make it out of here alive.
He also remembers, years before, the young prince’s talk of magicks, talk of last resorts. He never would have thought this would have come in such use on the day he remembers now. The man remembers the feel of unknown magic wrapping around himself and his allies, the sensation causing goosebumps to rise and the air around them to drop in temperature. The man remembers the chains binding his wrist twitching and pulling with the magic, he would have described it as painful if the chains hadn’t dropped to the floor shortly after.
The young prince needed not to give command as the man grabbed his allies, his friends, the people he had risked his life for and will continue to risk his life for. He remembers taking off running, dragging his dear friends along with him. They all remember the sound of heavily armored footsteps following behind, they all remembered the screams ringing out from the hall, he remembers the young prince’s laughter. He knew then that his former king had fallen at the hands of his new king, he remembered where his loyalty lied. He remembers not being able to stop the grin stretching across his face as he ran.
A smile came to his face at that memory, though soon was pulled from his maze as the sound of grass rustling grew closer. The man finally opened his eyes as a dear friend of his sat beside him, the man turned his head to look at the young prince, no longer as young, and no longer a prince. The man smiled at his king, at his friend, and the king smiled back.
“Entertaining yourself, Talyn?”
“As entertaining as old memories can be, Theoden.”
The king hummed at the man's response “Care to remember together?”
The man merely laughed, “Always.”
And so they remembered.