Work Text:
As the sun rises high up into the sky, its light washing forth over the hills and trees, lakes glistening with sunlight, I take a deep breath. The landscape of Europe is so strange to me, yet so familiar.
To think I came from here, and not the old world, confuses me so much. How did I even cross the ocean that far? Why would my parents sail that far, even…?
I grip the turquoise in my hand. It is the sole possession of mine I’ve had my whole life, and I’ve always been fascinated at the rock strewn through it. Apparently that’s common for turquoise, to be a mix of jewel and earth, not unlike myself; the son of an English curio dealer who was noble and refined, yet to the world I am nothing more than a viking berserker, a small gear in the world that no one realizes was affected so greatly by the greed and violence of others.
How would my life have gone, had Cervantes not killed my parents? Would I have become like my father? Or would I have thrown my life away in war to protect the family I had back home? Would I have found a woman to love, and we would be waking slowly in the morning, drinking our morning tea, instead of me alone in the fields as I am now?
I walk forward, even as I think of all this, until a furious bird flies towards me. I fumble back, and another one pecks at my foot.
I have fought lizardmen, giants, contorted fighters, but I never thought birds would be an opponent I would struggle against.
I move away from them, and hear a rapid chirping. Looking down I see a baby bird, the color of my turquoise, who has fallen out of the nest. He looks too young to begin flying, so he must’ve fallen out somehow.
And me, lumbering around as I was, nearly stepped on him.
His parents’ rage seems justified now, and I almost wish they could peck harder.
I cup him gently in my large, callused hands, ignoring his parents’ rapid strikes, and crane my head up to the tree, and I see the nest. I climb up it, and upon reaching the nest, I place the baby bird in it. His parents flock to him, wrapping their wings around him, though one sounds angry, like a scolding father.
“Curses, Rock!” I could practically hear my father say, before ruffling my hair lovingly, and my mother rolling her eyes.
“Nathaniel, you spoil him too much,” She would say, her voice warm.
A whole life, a whole future, stolen from me.
I take a deep breath, and bid the birds farewell. I hope that when he flies from his nest, it’s on his terms, when he’s old enough, and not pushed out by an albatross.
I suddenly recall a memory of a distant day, in some part of that place the people of Europe call London, where my father gave me this very turquoise before I went to my first tutor.
“My boy, Rock, you have nothing to fear as long as you have this good luck charm!” Father had said, placing it in my small, trembling hand. “No matter what happens, or if we are not there, it will protect you.”
“Really?” I asked, tears in my eyes.
“Yes, truly. And when you get back, we’ll have a big party for you!” My mother said, and both her and my father bent down to give me a hug, “Happy birthday, Rock!”
I look down at the turquoise, and grip it again.
Even if my family is no longer with me, the love they showed me is still with me, keeping me warm in winter, and pushing me to keep moving forward no matter what.