For My Dearest Aela, My Green-Eyed Girl
James D. Swinney
I am not the man I once was. This illness… I am wasting away. Weariness dogs me perpetually, my strength is being sapped from my very bones. Worse than that, I am losing my mind, my most precious possession. I am afraid, afraid of what is coming. Oblivion, the loss of all the recollections that I hold most dear. It will not be long now. That is why I must do this.
I pen these words today for my dearest Aela, my darling, my green-eyed girl that she may know that I have not forgotten.
I was only a child when I met you, out in those rolling hills, and too young to understand. And though you were only a year my elder, you were nothing of a child. You were wise beyond your years, and beautiful even then. You had run away from your family, not seeking fame or fortune as I was. You sought simply for freedom. I, in my vanity, sought after adventure. Instead, I found you, and my life was changed forever.
You were catching fish with your bare hands that day (a skill that I have never yet mastered!), your skirts pulled up around your knees. A fish slipped through your fingers, and I marvelled at the beauty of your laughter as you scrambled after it, splashing in the water and getting mud all over your fine dress. In that moment, though I could not have put my feelings to words then, I knew already that I loved you.
Eventually you caught me watching you, and though my face was red, you did not laugh at me, as I expected. You simply spoke to me, assuaging my embarrassment with your gentle smile. Looking into your eyes (whose majestic fractal patterns and swirls of color were forever after burned into my mind), I found only kindness, no derision. Had I only known then how much pain was concealed behind those eyes, I would have wept. But I was only a boy, and too young to understand.
You asked me why I was wandering alone in the hills, and I, beaming with pride, told you that I meant to be an adventurer. You asked me my name, and then, chuckling with simple pleasure, told me that Jarm was no kind of name for an adventurer.
“What should I be called then?” I asked you, feigning frustration.
Your easy smile vanished for a moment, replaced by a ponderous expression. It returned as you said, “Haridan, for you are my child of the hills.”
Thereafter, I was Haridan alone.
You told me your name was Aela, and that you were searching for a place where you could be free. I told you that all men were free in the Eran Empire. Gods above, I was so naïve! That was the first lesson I learned from you: we are all slaves, from the lowliest shepherd to the emperor himself.
I remember, Aela. I remember the day that we met, and the sadness in your eyes so beautiful. I have not forgotten the things you told me, Aela, or the stories you told as we walked in those hills. I have not forgotten your golden laughter, or the kindness that you showed to me.
But it will not be long, Aela. I am dying; I know this. I know that I will soon have lost all the things that are important to me, all that I am. And I know that there is nothing I can do about it.
Know this though, my darling, my green-eyed girl. I love you still. I have always loved you. Remember this, and though I am lost, I will never truly be gone.
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