Redeemed

Ch. 39

Tears were already streaming down my face before Aoire reached the end of his story, but the end brought me to my feet, sobs racking my shoulders. If I had been able to see, and if the sun had still been out, I would have run and not stopped for miles, screaming my hurt and anguish, letting these overwhelming emotions roar out into the air. Part of me still wanted to do just that.

The more logical side was taking the parts of this story and filling in the gaps in my memory from three years ago, pieces that I had known were missing, but had never sought after until now. Even three years later, that day that changed everything was still vivid in my mind, like a dream, or a nightmare, something that one can never forget. My brother and I were working in the field, pulling up weeds and killing the pests. How we saw two men, both dressed in formal army uniforms, riding two black horses, leading Kynthelig behind, coming to the house and speaking to Mom, who was tending her garden. A moment later, seeing Mom fall to the ground, hands covering her face. By the time Devin and I had run back, the two men had gone, leaving my mother in tears and with the burden of telling us what happened. Pain laced her voice, her hand gripping the reins of the new horse so tightly that her knuckles were white, though her voice remained steady.

"Children, your father sacrificed his life to save another's," she said, her eyes shining from the tears, the pain. Or had it been pride?

I remember standing there, stunned, not wanting to believe her words, hoping that this was a joke, that Dad would pop out behind the house at any second, saying, "Got you!"

A week later, at the funeral, one of the men from the army stood to deliver the epitaph. He had dark brown hair and eyes, and he was young, probably in his twenties. "Today marks the end of a remarkable man," he started, his voice shaking with emotion. "He changed hundreds of lives and helped people find hope in very dark times. For me, personally, he saved my life in more ways than one." Unable to bear hearing the rest of this man's story, Thurin's story I now realized, I had left. No one tried to stop me as I mounted Kynthelig and galloped away. Why should I listen to a man who had the chance to live at the expense of my father's life? At dinner that evening, Devin tried to tell me the speech, but I told him I didn't want to hear it. When he insisted, I stood up, screamed at both him and Mom, threw my plate across the table, and stormed out of the house. My mom found me sitting by our pond, the one in which Dad and I had fished for tadpoles, an hour later. We never spoke of how Dad died again.

Yet here I was now, sitting with one of Dad's friends, and hearing the story of how he had given his life in order to save another's, even if that other person's life, in the eyes of the world, was less valuable. He traded his life, a man many looked up to for inspiration and guidance, for a traitor's. Not only that, but he had asked the Prince to forgive the man, to give him a second chance. Dad's presence and kindness saturated every part of the story; it was almost like he were here again, reminding me that goodness still existed in the world.

And then there was the last part about me and the promise the Prince had made to my father. All of the rescues, all of the kind words, even the proposal, it all made sense now. Even as he lay dying, Dad wanted me to know that love still existed, and there was hope to be found.

As the tears continued to pour out of me, other emotions flowed out, and I let them go with the tears. I realized now that the anger directed at the Prince that had plagued me since Dad's death was not really at the Prince, but at Dad for leaving me. The resentment I had toward the Prince was not because the Prince had hurt me but because I could not see beyond my own selfishness. The bitterness I tasted every time I heard the Prince's name was not due to him hurting me but due to my refusing to accept the good that still existed in the world after Dad's death. It had been me with the problem all of this time, me who had refused help, me who had been too blind to see the love and support that surrounded me.