Fic: As We Are Wont, 8
Severus,
There is a song, and the soft voice of a lovely woman singing of wanderers, of vagabonds and thieves blessed because they never know which road they will follow next, they never know where they will be putting their heads to rest the next night. I long for wider spaces and deeper feelings. I long for the faith I lost many years ago. I have never been so carefree, though I can remember times when it seemed the moon was a mere apparition. When I was not defined by limits.
I wonder if the world is so small that wide spaces no longer exist. I wonder if it is only on the sea that we feel small and serene. The ocean, a chasm, but filled with water. What is man, that thou art mindful of him? What is man, that we are mindful of ourselves? The world shrinks, freedom to breathe disappears. I want to leave this place. Come with me.
This is not love, Severus. Love is not such a desperate thing. Love is certain. Love, true love between hearts and minds, fills the empty spaces of a house and makes you feel welcome, safe. My love knew a horse who had perfect control, but that horse so hated life that she threw all her riders and recklessly broke herself. Where are we headed, Severus? What life can exist after war? What manner of living is this, that we live through two wars that are not wars but firebombings? You and I, we could never build a house of books without it burning.
Ours is so small. Our world, that it should revolve around a single school, that one man by the name of Albus and another named Tom should influence events to the extent that it does. This is not a war, Severus. This is a feud. I have seen the wider world and it is enormous, and it is tiny, we are insignificant, and we are gods. That is what Olympus was-- a nuisance to the mortals, who learned to conquer in new and frightening ways.
Why do we bother, Severus? What is our stake? Why do we stay? Who are you, what do you see that makes you sacrifice so much for the sake of a cause unknown by better mortals?
The only thing I would like, at the end of this, is to be buried under the willow tree, where the dogs will not come to eat my bones. Bury me under the willow tree and let me rest at its roots, let me say a final thanks and a motion of gratitude by feeding the one being who never failed to protect me.
Yours,
RJ Lupin