The road is long
With many a winding turn
That leads us to who knows where
Who knows when
But I'm strong
Strong enough to carry him
He ain't heavy, he's my brother.
So on we go
His welfare is of my concern
No burden is he to bear
We'll get there
For I know
He would not encumber me.
If I'm laden at all
I'm laden with sadness
That everyone's hear
Isn't filled with the gladness
Of love for one another.
It's a long, long road
From which there is no return
While we're on the way to there
Why not share
And the load
Doesn't weigh me down at all
He ain't heavy, he's my brother.
He's my brother
He ain't heavy, he's my brother.
(Rufus Wainwright)
When the word came, I just sat there. I think I had known for a long time that my brother was not returning, but I just didn't want to speak of if. Some would not know how close we really were. We had our moments when we fought, when we disagreed, but we were brothers and we were close. It was a strong bond, tested by time and the trials of brotherhood.
I had began to feel that bond fading. I had felt him fading. Do I feel guilty. Skies yes! Guilty that I was not there to fight by his side, to die with him. Guilty that I had lost faith in him coming back. Guilty that I still live, and he does not. I think that is how it is with brothers.
I sat for a long time with my memories. Memories of us as children, memories of the fights, and the times that we stood side by side, to fight others. Black eyes, bloodied noses, broken bones, we shared them all. There is this thing with some brothers. It is okay for me to pick on him, or for him to pick on me.......but, you let someone else try it, then they have to fight us both. That is just how it is with brothers.
I have spent all of my life, just a half a step behind him. He earned his name, I earned mine about a moon later. He earned his first scar, I was not far behind him. I think that is one of the reasons I took a mate first. I wanted to be the first to do something. In hindsight, I should have let him lead there too.
I loved my brother, and no one can really know how much I will miss the arrogant, bosk arse. He could charm gold out of Turians teeth, when he wanted, then turn around and make them so angry they wanted to kill. That is just how he was. I will miss him.
I knew there was one thing that I needed to do before the gossip got around camp. I needed to be the one to tell our parents, before anyone else could. It was not something that I looked forward to.
When I arrived at their wagons, I think our mother knew the moment that she saw me. To say that she was livid and inconsolable would be an understatement. And I thought I was ready for the guilt and recriminations, because it was him, and not me. But I am not sure you can ever be ready for that. It has never been a secret that Ba'atar was the first son, and the favorite of our mother. The rest of us grew accustomed to that long ago. And I know that because of some of the things in my past, she doesn't care for me much. She loves me. She is my mother, but I don't think she likes me much.
As for our Father. He knew how I was feeling, and the loss that weighed so heavy on me. And he know, that if I could have, I would have taken Ba'atar's place within the blink of one eye. It has been a long time since my father embraced me as he did that night. He knew that I needed it, and maybe he needed it too. Releasing me, he cuffed me on the cheek and told me to go tend to my people, that he would calm Mother. He is a good man, and I do not envy him, and what he has to deal with right now. Maybe someday, she will look at me in a different light, but it will not be tonight. Tonight is her night to grieve for her First Son.
And, I could already feel it. Tonight was going to be a paga night. I took a couple of botas, rode out past the herds and got down off of Lestat and dropped to the ground cross-legged. I drank to my brother, I drank to his companions, I drank to their lives and to our loss.
And then I sang. I sang a song for Ba'atar. A song for my brother.
With many a winding turn
That leads us to who knows where
Who knows when
But I'm strong
Strong enough to carry him
He ain't heavy, he's my brother.
So on we go
His welfare is of my concern
No burden is he to bear
We'll get there
For I know
He would not encumber me.
If I'm laden at all
I'm laden with sadness
That everyone's hear
Isn't filled with the gladness
Of love for one another.
It's a long, long road
From which there is no return
While we're on the way to there
Why not share
And the load
Doesn't weigh me down at all
He ain't heavy, he's my brother.
He's my brother
He ain't heavy, he's my brother.
(Rufus Wainwright)
When the word came, I just sat there. I think I had known for a long time that my brother was not returning, but I just didn't want to speak of if. Some would not know how close we really were. We had our moments when we fought, when we disagreed, but we were brothers and we were close. It was a strong bond, tested by time and the trials of brotherhood.
I had began to feel that bond fading. I had felt him fading. Do I feel guilty. Skies yes! Guilty that I was not there to fight by his side, to die with him. Guilty that I had lost faith in him coming back. Guilty that I still live, and he does not. I think that is how it is with brothers.
I sat for a long time with my memories. Memories of us as children, memories of the fights, and the times that we stood side by side, to fight others. Black eyes, bloodied noses, broken bones, we shared them all. There is this thing with some brothers. It is okay for me to pick on him, or for him to pick on me.......but, you let someone else try it, then they have to fight us both. That is just how it is with brothers.
I have spent all of my life, just a half a step behind him. He earned his name, I earned mine about a moon later. He earned his first scar, I was not far behind him. I think that is one of the reasons I took a mate first. I wanted to be the first to do something. In hindsight, I should have let him lead there too.
I loved my brother, and no one can really know how much I will miss the arrogant, bosk arse. He could charm gold out of Turians teeth, when he wanted, then turn around and make them so angry they wanted to kill. That is just how he was. I will miss him.
I knew there was one thing that I needed to do before the gossip got around camp. I needed to be the one to tell our parents, before anyone else could. It was not something that I looked forward to.
When I arrived at their wagons, I think our mother knew the moment that she saw me. To say that she was livid and inconsolable would be an understatement. And I thought I was ready for the guilt and recriminations, because it was him, and not me. But I am not sure you can ever be ready for that. It has never been a secret that Ba'atar was the first son, and the favorite of our mother. The rest of us grew accustomed to that long ago. And I know that because of some of the things in my past, she doesn't care for me much. She loves me. She is my mother, but I don't think she likes me much.
As for our Father. He knew how I was feeling, and the loss that weighed so heavy on me. And he know, that if I could have, I would have taken Ba'atar's place within the blink of one eye. It has been a long time since my father embraced me as he did that night. He knew that I needed it, and maybe he needed it too. Releasing me, he cuffed me on the cheek and told me to go tend to my people, that he would calm Mother. He is a good man, and I do not envy him, and what he has to deal with right now. Maybe someday, she will look at me in a different light, but it will not be tonight. Tonight is her night to grieve for her First Son.
And, I could already feel it. Tonight was going to be a paga night. I took a couple of botas, rode out past the herds and got down off of Lestat and dropped to the ground cross-legged. I drank to my brother, I drank to his companions, I drank to their lives and to our loss.
And then I sang. I sang a song for Ba'atar. A song for my brother.
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