I am, and am not.
Tonight, as in the past week I have spent time walking the floors of this place. Within the walls of the grand house, which sits in the shadow of the Yew Abbey, I have come seeking answers and found only more questions.
Over the past couple of months, I have been called fetch, doppelganger, the Other-Aedon or simply a shadow. If I am to accept this, then I must discount my memories as illusions or the dreams of a confused man.
I am, and am not.
Within this building, I have seen the essence of a life long lived. The house, tastefully decorated, is obviously not a place for show but the home of a family. Warm and welcoming, it seems to know my footsteps. In the master bedroom are mementos of love shared. On one nighttable stands a declaration of affection inscribed, “Always and forever, Aedon.” If this man and I are part of one another, how could I ever forget such a love.
I spent one night within the walls of the small nursery off the master bedroom. My back firmly placed against the south wall, I studied the room – a small bed, the head and foot boards carefully carved by loving hands – a hand sewn quilt and toys of many colors placed on shelves within the reach of small hands.
I am, and am not.
In the main room of the house, hanging above the fireplace, I observed a painting of the family. I know the face of Lady Ven...Lady Durreah – hair the color of summer wheat, and eyes that pierce the soul. Strong and yet gentle, her gaze is cast softly on the countenance of the child in her arms. The child is beyond beautiful, her hair streaked with red and gold. Emerald green eyes shine out, captured perfectly by the artist. Behind them, hands rested on Jan's shoulders stands the father.
I will admit there is semblance between us. Our hair is of a similar shade, but his has much silver woven within the fading colors. His eyes show a contentment I have not seen in mine since Maggie passed. And about him seems to be a fire and wisdom that comes from years and knowledge. He could be my older brother, or perhaps a wiser uncle.
I have heard much of this man in stories that sound more like legends, and found more in books contained within the library of Aegis. I have been told I led this glade, and offered protection to friends, wanders, and the monks of the Abbey.
I have been told much except how this can be.
And now, as I spend my last night in this place, I know that I do not wish to know any more. To believe I am this man is painful to me. To think I could forget a life and love shared. To not recall deeds I have done, or the feel of my daughters hand in mine.
To believe all this, is to admit that the life I recall is a lie, and that my love for Maggie which has sustained me through the years is but a dream of one who has lost his way in life, to deny my very existence.
I am, and am not.
In childhood, I learned that great purpose of life can drive a man, body and soul, that the journey once begun becomes all encompassing; and that passion for a life or a people can draw a person back from beyond the spirit until the task is complete. Perhaps this time, in their zeal to complete what was begun, the powers that be made a minor mistake and placed the dreams of a warrior into the mind of a tavern keeper.
I cannot be this man, this other Aedon. Whatever spark drove his heart to greatness is not within me. But I can tend his glade for him, and see to the well being of the people he is said to have loved, perhaps beyond his own life.
I am, and am not Aedon Durreah.
But, I am inspired to do my best to live a life that is good and honest and seek always to do justice to his memory. And I pray that those who loved the man I am not, can grant me the life I remember.
Tonight, as in the past week I have spent time walking the floors of this place. Within the walls of the grand house, which sits in the shadow of the Yew Abbey, I have come seeking answers and found only more questions.
Over the past couple of months, I have been called fetch, doppelganger, the Other-Aedon or simply a shadow. If I am to accept this, then I must discount my memories as illusions or the dreams of a confused man.
I am, and am not.
Within this building, I have seen the essence of a life long lived. The house, tastefully decorated, is obviously not a place for show but the home of a family. Warm and welcoming, it seems to know my footsteps. In the master bedroom are mementos of love shared. On one nighttable stands a declaration of affection inscribed, “Always and forever, Aedon.” If this man and I are part of one another, how could I ever forget such a love.
I spent one night within the walls of the small nursery off the master bedroom. My back firmly placed against the south wall, I studied the room – a small bed, the head and foot boards carefully carved by loving hands – a hand sewn quilt and toys of many colors placed on shelves within the reach of small hands.
I am, and am not.
In the main room of the house, hanging above the fireplace, I observed a painting of the family. I know the face of Lady Ven...Lady Durreah – hair the color of summer wheat, and eyes that pierce the soul. Strong and yet gentle, her gaze is cast softly on the countenance of the child in her arms. The child is beyond beautiful, her hair streaked with red and gold. Emerald green eyes shine out, captured perfectly by the artist. Behind them, hands rested on Jan's shoulders stands the father.
I will admit there is semblance between us. Our hair is of a similar shade, but his has much silver woven within the fading colors. His eyes show a contentment I have not seen in mine since Maggie passed. And about him seems to be a fire and wisdom that comes from years and knowledge. He could be my older brother, or perhaps a wiser uncle.
I have heard much of this man in stories that sound more like legends, and found more in books contained within the library of Aegis. I have been told I led this glade, and offered protection to friends, wanders, and the monks of the Abbey.
I have been told much except how this can be.
And now, as I spend my last night in this place, I know that I do not wish to know any more. To believe I am this man is painful to me. To think I could forget a life and love shared. To not recall deeds I have done, or the feel of my daughters hand in mine.
To believe all this, is to admit that the life I recall is a lie, and that my love for Maggie which has sustained me through the years is but a dream of one who has lost his way in life, to deny my very existence.
I am, and am not.
In childhood, I learned that great purpose of life can drive a man, body and soul, that the journey once begun becomes all encompassing; and that passion for a life or a people can draw a person back from beyond the spirit until the task is complete. Perhaps this time, in their zeal to complete what was begun, the powers that be made a minor mistake and placed the dreams of a warrior into the mind of a tavern keeper.
I cannot be this man, this other Aedon. Whatever spark drove his heart to greatness is not within me. But I can tend his glade for him, and see to the well being of the people he is said to have loved, perhaps beyond his own life.
I am, and am not Aedon Durreah.
But, I am inspired to do my best to live a life that is good and honest and seek always to do justice to his memory. And I pray that those who loved the man I am not, can grant me the life I remember.
