there's light at the edge of the darkness
This back-and-forth wasn’t what the Launceleyn expected. It wasn’t even what he wanted. And if definitely wasn’t what he needed. That wasn’t a complaint, just an observation. But the summoner was getting a bit sick and tired of being condescended to, even if it was coming from a higher power who had every right to do so and was probably right to do so in this case. He was certainly tired of the way in which his life had stood still for so long. And, while he would still probably put others before himself more often than not—he couldn’t change the core of who he was, no matter how hard he tried—he had done that for long enough. Time for a change.
After all, helping people didn’t mean he couldn’t make time for himself. He should. He absolutely should. He’d come to a new land and done...nothing. Just dithered about and gone crazy. A land of possibility and opportunity and he’d squandered it all. A whole new world and he’d been clinging to his old self, his old life. Staying in place, moving backwards, instead of running towards the future.
Enough was enough, and if he didn’t think he was enough yet, well, everyone and everthing kept fucking telling him he could be, someday. So it was about time he proved them right. The only thing that had been stopping him was fear, really. Fear of rejection, fear of failure, fear of hurting those he loved. However, for some reason he couldn't quite articulate, he wasn’t running towards this danger—which is how he usually reacted to threats—he was running away and hiding. But that wasn’t like him. His instinct was to fight, not to take flight (current situation notwithstanding).
Time to fight for what he wanted, and knew he could have.
Of course, he didn’t have someone to love, at least not in the way he’d loved Remi. And it was loved, because if his interactions with the alchemist since the summoner’s return had taught him anything, it was that he’d been in love with the memory and the idea of the other man, not the living, breathing reality of Remi that the Launceleyn had reintroduced himself to. But there were other types of love, other kinds of desire. Family, both chosen and blood: he had Beatrix, and Jace, and Peter, and Astra, and everyone else he’d invited into his home, Aonghas, Renaud, Abasi. They needed him and he wanted and needed them. Love of country and home: while the Hollowed Grounds barely felt like home, they were, and he would protect those within it to the best of his abilities, and not beat himself up when he failed. Or at least, not too badly.
And there were always his dreams, the ones he kept locked away because they so often turned into nightmares. But usually they failed because of his tendency to self-sabotage, not from any outside force. He still had them, though, even if he kept them to himself. His school, the one that he thought might change the way people perceived him and his family, the one he could use to share all the knowledge he’d gathered over his admittedly short life, and learn from others in turn. The one he hoped, prayed even, would bring people together. Making friends, and keeping them, because the only impediment to his friendships was his unfortunate habit of pushing people away when they were only trying to help because he thought he was unworthy or some stupid bullshit like that. Exploring this world and everything it had to offer, finding out about its birds and its trees and its beasts and its flowers.
Maybe even finding love again, when he was ready.
When he spoke, there wasn’t a trace of a whine in his voice; instead, it was filled with a deep conviction and a kind of awed reverence. He reached deep down into the core of his being, and drew upon the stubborn center that refused to give up even when all seemed lost, that kept him going when others might have given up, that prevented him from ever backing down from a fight so long as it was just, that allowed him to sacrifice when it was necessary. That was him. His soul, his heart, his mind, his body. ”Then I will slap them on and move on.”
Move on.
He liked the way that sounded, how that tasted, how that looked on him, how that felt to him. If was past time he did it, and he was ready. Eager. Willing. The future was waiting. And he couldn’t wait for it to find him any longer.
After all, helping people didn’t mean he couldn’t make time for himself. He should. He absolutely should. He’d come to a new land and done...nothing. Just dithered about and gone crazy. A land of possibility and opportunity and he’d squandered it all. A whole new world and he’d been clinging to his old self, his old life. Staying in place, moving backwards, instead of running towards the future.
Enough was enough, and if he didn’t think he was enough yet, well, everyone and everthing kept fucking telling him he could be, someday. So it was about time he proved them right. The only thing that had been stopping him was fear, really. Fear of rejection, fear of failure, fear of hurting those he loved. However, for some reason he couldn't quite articulate, he wasn’t running towards this danger—which is how he usually reacted to threats—he was running away and hiding. But that wasn’t like him. His instinct was to fight, not to take flight (current situation notwithstanding).
Time to fight for what he wanted, and knew he could have.
Of course, he didn’t have someone to love, at least not in the way he’d loved Remi. And it was loved, because if his interactions with the alchemist since the summoner’s return had taught him anything, it was that he’d been in love with the memory and the idea of the other man, not the living, breathing reality of Remi that the Launceleyn had reintroduced himself to. But there were other types of love, other kinds of desire. Family, both chosen and blood: he had Beatrix, and Jace, and Peter, and Astra, and everyone else he’d invited into his home, Aonghas, Renaud, Abasi. They needed him and he wanted and needed them. Love of country and home: while the Hollowed Grounds barely felt like home, they were, and he would protect those within it to the best of his abilities, and not beat himself up when he failed. Or at least, not too badly.
And there were always his dreams, the ones he kept locked away because they so often turned into nightmares. But usually they failed because of his tendency to self-sabotage, not from any outside force. He still had them, though, even if he kept them to himself. His school, the one that he thought might change the way people perceived him and his family, the one he could use to share all the knowledge he’d gathered over his admittedly short life, and learn from others in turn. The one he hoped, prayed even, would bring people together. Making friends, and keeping them, because the only impediment to his friendships was his unfortunate habit of pushing people away when they were only trying to help because he thought he was unworthy or some stupid bullshit like that. Exploring this world and everything it had to offer, finding out about its birds and its trees and its beasts and its flowers.
Maybe even finding love again, when he was ready.
When he spoke, there wasn’t a trace of a whine in his voice; instead, it was filled with a deep conviction and a kind of awed reverence. He reached deep down into the core of his being, and drew upon the stubborn center that refused to give up even when all seemed lost, that kept him going when others might have given up, that prevented him from ever backing down from a fight so long as it was just, that allowed him to sacrifice when it was necessary. That was him. His soul, his heart, his mind, his body. ”Then I will slap them on and move on.”
Move on.
He liked the way that sounded, how that tasted, how that looked on him, how that felt to him. If was past time he did it, and he was ready. Eager. Willing. The future was waiting. And he couldn’t wait for it to find him any longer.
loren
