With what I have
With what I've obtained
With what I've earned
It hurts to give away;
I will never give away.
******
Samuel Alistair POV:
For the first time in my life, I thanked god I am alive.
The times I wished I weren't; times I questioned why I must live and to continue – and I did continue, not because of the strength of my will or out of spite towards anyone or myself, but because I, deep down, believed that there was something for me; that surely what I've endured wasn't for no reason. And I was right. I know now that I lived for this moment.
I'm so happy that my happiness overruns my countenance – perhaps my happiness leaks from my eyes and is the cause of the ringing in my ear. I'm so happy I can feel my heart pumping in my throat, I'm filled with adrenaline that exonerates any fatigue and stress that's accumulated throughout these years; and though pristinely conscious of where I am and of what I see, everything feels slow. Even aware of my own intent to move, my movements feel delayed. My head feels heavy. I feel as though I am in a stupor; drunk off happiness, descending into its void, willingly shackling myself to its consequences, as I listened to a sound. The nigh-silent breath that came out uneven, unsure of what's being inhaled. Small as the breath is, in this spacious room that lacked any decoration but a bed and a fireplace, the breath seemed to be the only sound that reverberated within the room – the crackling of the fire and the springs in the bed acting as the instruments to this enchanting tune.
I don't want to make noise. I want to hear the breath. I focused solely on my breathing; inhaling slowly in my nose and exhaling the same way.
The breath belonged to that of a boy. A baby boy who was born only seconds ago. And I found that my mind, accustoming itself to this new arrival that had once only been a concept, began to unravel – as though of wrapping paper around a gift – a tidal wave of worry, contradicting itself with a childlike yearning.
'There is no longer me, just you… am I worthy of you; of you needing me – me of all people? I want to tell my story to you; I want to lay myself bare to you and explain who I am. Would you look at me the same… would you see me how I want you to? I want to hold you, to carry you as you sleep, to feed you, to think about you on days I question my will to continue. Will you accept what I have to offer you, or will you give me contempt for what I have brought? Will what I have to offer be enough? Can I be there on woeful days to wipe your tears and give you comfort – or will I further the density of your woes, as you shout at me for existing?'
I am joyful.
I am scared.
Within the grasp of my hand is another, firmly gripping onto me as if I'd disappear in a moment's notice, as I am staring at the ceiling in a precarious attempt to use gravity to keep my tears from falling, before finally breaking the silence with a satisfied breath. "You did it, Gloria! You did it! Our son is here…. Our boy."
"Congratulations, Mr., and Mrs. Alistair. Your baby boy is perfectly healthy." I faced the midwife that cradled my silent son that is wrapped tightly in a black towel. She's a short slender woman whose fine grey hair is tied in a tight bun. Tired brown eyes and many wrinkles creased her face, signifying her old age. She's wearing a large blue medical gown that reached down to her calves. Although she is obviously worn out – evident from the sweat on her fair skin – she kept a stoic face in an attempt to hide her weariness. The midwifes gaze hadn't left the child, and her thin lips had remained with a satisfied grin even as she spoke with a tired-cheery voice. "Mrs. Alistair, would you like to hold your child?"
I turned my sight to my wife whose lower body is covered with a black blanket. Immediately am I drawn to her head of black hair – which is normally wavy – that is now frizzy and dry around the top, whereas the ends have become clumped together with the moistness of sweat and her own body heat, sticking to her profusely sweating face. The upturned nose that, though the tip is stubby, is in perfect proportion to her round, watery hazel eyes that reflected the little light in the room within her pupil. Her warm ivory skin turned a luminescent pale; her thin and delicate fingers that fit within the crevices of my hand, gripping tightly to the point of a stark white around the knob of her knuckles. The beautiful body that held refinement and nigh-goddess genes has turned into a delicate, feeble frame that is to be tended to… Even looking at her whilst she is in pain and fatigued – even if she weren't in pain and I were a mere stranger – I'd get the sense that she is to be looked at with reverence and worship; that to look at her is a natural aspect of life and worship is as natural as man needing food; a natural law akin to the laws of gravity and that which is factual.
As the midwife handed our child to my wife, a weak smile slowly arose from my wife's pink and exhausted lips. Our child, whose eyes were closed and still hadn't cried once, had been caught under the same spell as his mother, smiling slightly. Whether it was from the warmness of Gloria's hands from having gripped mine for so long that brought about his smile, or maybe he, too, had understood who exactly was carrying him; and felt her warmness from within his tiny beating heart, I don't know.
Granted, I couldn't exactly get a good look at my child as I had been enduring a battle with myself at this moment; a grueling battle fought by my mind and heart; for my mind wished to see my child in haleness, but my heart clouded my vision with emotion that welled within the crevices of my eyes. I had to make do with an awkward angle which only allowed me to see my child in a slanting view; I could see the white chubby skin of the cheeks, the small forehead, and the tiny nose, but am unable to discern whether his eyes were closed, and whether the lips have become a smile or if it is simply influenced by the shadows which coursed the child's face.
Gloria poked at the towel, a grin forming from her lips, as the towel became slightly undone on the front. From the tiny opening of the towel from Gloria's intervention, two tiny hands emerged, reaching for the one who held him. Gloria extended her dainty index finger, aligning it within the tiny hands; the tiny hands held the tip of Gloria's finger. To this, Gloria's eyes turned to slits, as a wide smile overcoming her fatigue took its place. "He's beautiful… so beautiful. I fear he'll end up like his father." She giggled.
"Why?! Aren't I the greatest?!"
"You act haughty and question why?"
"Haughty!" I scoffed, gripping my chest as if I were stabbed. "You're hurting my heart with witty quips!"
"You're right. I'll stop hurting you with my words… after all, don't they say that when words don't work, violence is the solution?"
"What kind of messed up proverb were you taught?!"
Both Gloria and the midwife laughed. Gloria has always had a habit of teasing me and giggling to herself in satisfaction. She's sadistic that way, but it's part of why I fell in love with her. She also had a habit of bouncing her shoulders when she stifled her laughter. It is because of her shoulders bouncing up and down, the towel around my son became more undone, and I saw white hair that completely overshadowed the black towel.
Shocked by my discovery, I turned to Ms. Sakura; the midwife. "Ms. Sakura, is that white hair? Is that normal for a baby? I mean – both Gloria and I have black hair… wait, don't tell me!" I flicked my head to my wife with tears – I so desperately fought back a few moments ago – clouding my eyes.
My wife stared at me with eyes of disdain and an almost amused disbelief. "Are you dumb? No, you are dumb." She sighed, rubbing her temples, not allowing me to voice my answer. "He's your son. And look closely, he has your purple eyes."
I walked closer to Gloria, peeked my head over the tiny walls of the black towel, and nervously studied the child's appearance. The adorable chubbiness of the cheeks and a dried redness of Gloria's dew plastered across his skin; the full head of white hair that is wet and moist against his forehead. His long white eyelashes fluttered, fluttered, and fluttered along to his eyes that repetitively closed and opened, never actually widening his eyes; indeed, they remained akin to slits. It was like each time his eyelashes fluttered along, they refused to let the child see the light, for even the smallest hint of light would cause him to shut his eyes entirely. Before finally, after the same closing and opening pattern three more times, the child adjusted to the faint orange tint of light that dimly illuminated the room; the only other source of light besides the moon itself. The boys eyes opened large enough for me to grasp the hue of his iris's, before shutting once again.
I sighed a breath of relief, wiping away the remnants of tears from my eyes with the sleeve from my dark-grey, long-sleeved tunic. "Wait, why are you calling me stupid? It was a valid question!"
My question had been asked on good grounds! I'm pretty tall, with my physique being noticeably well-built; my muscles weren't necessarily bulging through my slightly oversized tunic, but they were apparent; for instance, should there be wind that pushed my shirt against my skin, you'd see my firm body – my athletic body! As spoken previously, I had thin black hair, albeit mussed with my wife's comment on my purple eyes adding further insight to my appearance.
My son suddenly being born with white hair is suspicious!
Anyone would question that!!!
"He is going to be ok, though, right?" Gloria further questioned; nervousness apparent in her voice.
Ms. Sakura smiled; eyes narrowed to crescents from her smile, speaking in a soothing voice. "Don't worry. Your son is fine. I believe that his body encountered some stress whilst inside your stomach. It's quite rare amongst most newborns but it's completely harmless. That I can assure you, Mrs. Alistair."
My wife's face, once tensed with unease, had relaxed into a state of relief. My wife, then, looked out the window near her bed; she stared down at the homes that spread across the land, as the moon shined within her hazel iris's.
I'm the current lord of this land that spreads northward. Even though I'm a lord, I'm not included in any politics of my country. I am still a general in the military but am not on active duty. I am influential enough that I am only needed if there's a war, really. So they gave me land under my title of a Baron and leave me alone for the most part.
My home is atop a hill that watches over the village, albeit smaller than an average village, housing a little less than 300 citizens. I'm not keen on maintaining a village. I just want to live with my family, to raise my family, and for the next generation to continue living here. That's why I had given other villagers pieces of my land to make their own village under the protection of me. It's dutiful, yes. But I found that, even if they aren't my family, to know that there are other families that seek me as their protector; I'm the reason they are able to keep happiness, and the yellow lights belonging to their cottage-like homes, whose life is borne through flame, dancing through the night, spreading its warmth and illumination to all, made me fulfilled.
That's when snow started to fall swiftly, slowly, and softly spreading its white hue over the village. The fire crackling within the fireplace on the left side of the room, giving a refreshing warmth to our cold bones on this cold night, while gazing out the window gave a feeling of serenity.
"Albus." Gloria suddenly spoke, gaze remaining outside the window.
"What?"
"Our child's name: Albus meaning white; White as his hair; White as the moons light."
"I see. Albus Alistair…" A wry grin arose from my expressionless mouth. "He's going to be quite the playboy."
"I won't hesitate to make you sleep outside." Gloria said flatly and quickly.
"Huh? Me? Why? I'll freeze to death! I've done nothing wrong! Defamation I say!"
Gloria rolled her eyes. "Right."
There was a minute of silence where everyone had been staring at Albus. I don't remember how I started to look at Albus, and why everyone had suddenly, without a word, decided to join me. But we were, to say the least, bewitched with Albus. His round eyes that are akin to small amethysts, surrounded by long white eyelashes. Ms. Sakura wiped Albus's skin with a wet rag, revealing an alabaster white. Even though he had just been born, he has a full mussed head of white, thin hair. Again, with everyone silent, we were able to hear his confused breathing. I felt that my existence was validated further with each breath; the very love that I lacked for myself had been corrupted, filling with a new warmth and ego – almost as though a necessity for Albus. I couldn't help but feel as though everything in my life, leading up to his birth, was meant solely for him. That my own life was never an actual life but, rather, a foundation to support Albus.
My wife's eyes suddenly widened in an appalling manner. "Ah! Dear, we forgot about Tadashi! He said he was going to get medicine for me! Go find him!"
"Oh shit!" By the time I realized that I had cursed, Gloria was already staring daggers into me. Just the feel of it made me wince from fear.
'She's seriously going to make me sleep outside tonight.' I thought, horrified from the vision of being frozen alive underneath a blanket of snow. It's crazy how quickly she can change from admiring our child, both exuding a certain beauty, then suddenly shocked out of remembrance, and finally leaking an immense amount of killing intent from her gaze alone. Are mother's always this scary?
Nevertheless, I got out of the room to search for Tadashi.
Lightly jogging through the hall – walls and ceiling painted grey – my thoughts wandered elsewhere. A person; to Tadashi himself.
Tadashi is a boy that I had found in the aftermath of a battle against the Thelonious empire. Though the war ended up giving both countries peace after a near century of conflict against one another; cities, villages, and land on both sides were destroyed. Both soldier and civilians alike had experienced millions of losses on both sides. The war ended mainly because multiple major countries had fallen and if any more conflict were to have happened, mutual destruction was inevitable for the entire world. So the countries and their allies all accepted a peace treaty making history as the first time the entirety of the world were at peace.
But those who were alive and survived such a war would have been better off dead. I remember I used to think that those that survived the war had died with the war and are incapable of living in peace. I still find this true. But it is the thought of purity that allows one to acclimate to peace, as I have.
Tadashi was only eleven when I found him. He didn't know his parents. The only person who could be considered a parent to Tadashi was a guardian that had taken him in but died on an active battlefield. He was five then. For six years he wandered, attempting to survive on his own. He's seen things as a child that a man should never see. Things I wouldn't wish upon my own enemy.
My finding of Tadashi had been a little after the war ended. And though peace was established between governments, it took the people a while to accept it, as bandits nurtured and scarred by war, wreaked havoc on villages who had only recently been given a new hope. I don't blame those bandits for their actions, really, but I had been sent, along with many other soldiers of Darcy, to pursue and bring the bandits to "justice". That's when I had spotted Tadashi.
Tadashi was lying down on a pile of bodies with an odd-looking long sword that had a quillon shaped like a crucifix, and a bright white blade laid flat on top of him. It honestly would have looked like a wake if there weren't other dead bodies surrounding him that engulfed the entire land with an acrid smell of steel, burnt grass soaked with blood, and rotting corpses. His cheeks were sunken, famine visibly taking its toll with no mercy on this poor boy; skin a sickly gray, devoid of all color. His clothes were ripped and torn with cuts both deep and shallow across his back and front, contaminated with dirt and grime. His ribs were visible and was as skinny and light as a stick.
Ash from fire, pebbles from the cottage houses which had been reduced to rubble, as well as blood dirtied Tadashi's golden hair. Even after seeing a child's body this way, I wasn't all that taken back. I was prepared to end his life then, so he could no longer suffer, but it was the sight of Tadashi's eyes that had – and I say this with complete shame – given me consciousness of the value of life, and how disheartening it was to see a child with such beautiful emerald iris's, have lifeless eyes that reflected only the destruction around us.
I shook my head in a physical attempt to change what I had been thinking as I walked down the stairs.
Regardless, Tadashi was a strong boy with no affinity towards any elements, but a rather peculiar ability to manipulate space and space aspects. He had trained himself to survive, but he never used his rare battle prowess to kill people. Not even if it was for food. It was only to defend himself and others. Tadashi reminded me a lot of myself, forming a bond between the two of us. Since then I looked after him. Eventually, through what most would call rebellious stages, he started to see me as a father figure, and I saw him as my son. Now he's fifteen and lives with both Gloria and I.
Who would've guessed that the boy that has experienced hell itself would be lying face up at our doorway with a bag of medicinal herbs on top of him, nearly frozen to death?
'Aah, is this the Déjà vu I've heard about?'
"Umm. Are you ok?"
"I-I-I'm-" Tadashi stuttered, body quivering from the blanket of snow continuing to pile on top of him.
"Hmm? Did you say something? Speak up."
"F-F-F –"
"My new son!' I cut off, ignoring his attempt at speaking. "Yes! Your little brother has been born!"
He stood up quickly, almost like he wasn't just about to die to the cold.
The boy that I knew back then – who was only skin and bones – changed into a man that matched my height. His clean golden hair looked like strands of gold, albeit, due to his unsightly display of having nearly experienced death, messily parted. His rich green eyes, moist with a particular glint far shinier than that of the suns beams, looked more similar to a polished emerald. He severely underdressed thus wearing a creamy colored turtleneck, sewn by Gloria, with black pants.
Having replayed the memory of Tadashi jumping up multiple times in my head, I couldn't stifle back my laugh.
Tadashi's right brow rose, eyeing me with a spark of confusion. "So? What's the child's name?"
"The 'child's' name is Albus."
A slight grin, so small one would assume Tadashi were expressionless, poked up on his thin lips. "Albus." He spoke.
I had only seen him smile once before when Gloria and I asked him if he wanted to stay at the manor with us, so it caught me a little off guard.
Walking to the room Gloria was in, Tadashi began to tremble.
One would assume that it's surely because Tadashi is still recovering from the cold, but I, thanks to my keen eye sight, am able to discern that that's not the case, and that he, instead, had been trembling with excitement and nervousness.
Tadashi has made a name for himself as an inscrutable and solemn person. Most girls in the village have a crush on him because of his mysterious and aloof personality, which makes sense since people that experience hardships act cold and distant, but, right now, he looks like a child who has never experienced such a life. As if all the pain he had once seen, and experienced, disappeared.
Though he wouldn't say it himself.
"What's wrong, my son? You excited to see your little brother? I know, I know, it's exciting, right? The time you've been so eagerly waiting for has come and you have now become an older brother!" I sang, playfully shoving Tadashi's shoulder.
"I don't know what you're talking about. Are you forgetting I nearly froze to death since someone decided to lock the door and not open it for hours?"
Leaning closer to his ear, I whispered: "You're face say's otherwise."
He blushed, immediately fixing his countenance.
"Besides," I continued, walking giddily alongside him, "hasn't anyone told you not to stay occupied on the past. I'm no philosopher but I can say that you should look towards the future. Like, instead of holding a grudge for me not opening the door and completely forgetting you had left, you use that anger to get a wife!"
"Yes, and when you die, my wife and I will spit on your grave and then run off with your money."
"… you innately hate me, don't you?"
"If I cared to think of you more, probably."
"Let's leave the self-discoveries to Albus's future." I said in defeat.
Tadashi grinned.
We reached the room Gloria and Ms. Sakura are in. Upon opening the door, Tadashi greeted Mrs. Sakura with a nod of acknowledgement. Gloria smiled at Tadashi, raising Albus – now wrapped in a white cover – and spoke softly: "Come, Tadashi. Your little brother."
Tadashi hesitated for a little bit, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, staring at the cover embracing Albus. Finally, walking over to Gloria, Tadashi picked Albus up, cradling Albus's tiny, fragile body within his arms, before lifting him up awkwardly – the image seemed to be like the sun glaring down at a man – looking into Albus's eyes.
Albus, with his eyes closed, smiled.
I stood at the doorway and can only see Tadashi's back, but that was all I needed to see.
A liquid plopped onto the wooden floor as Tadashi spoke delicately so as not to scare Albus. "A-Albus, I'm your big brother, Tadashi."
'Yes, everything feels right.'