Commander Braghaman Larethian

AU: Future Memories

The fire in the hearth crackled as orange flames danced around the thick logs on the grate. Light and shadows danced around the stones surrounding it, as if the fire were putting on a play for anyone nearby. But the only person to notice was the old figure sitting beside the hearth. 

He sat in a low chair, looking at the fire beside him and feeling its heat wash over his hands and face. His once colorful hair had long since shifted to silver-gray and was bound into one braid now that hung over his right shoulder. Around his eyes and mouth were many deep-set wrinkles, whose meanings seemed to change with the mood. He looked away from the fire towards the young children that were running and playing through the house, and they were laugh lines showing his deep happiness. But when he turned back to the fire for a moment, they transformed, somehow showing fatigue and absence. 

His head turned when a voice from the kitchen called out to the children, admonishing them against running in the house. A chorus of young voices responded, promising to reign in their exuberance. But the peace was short-lived as the games resumed and shoes could be heard racing across the floors once more. He could have sworn he heard a sigh coming from the kitchen, a situation he believed to be very familiar.

He turned to face the fire again, soaking in the heat before looking back at the living room. The same old couch sat in front of the hearth where it always had. How many stories had been ready there? He couldn’t remember, but the lines of their favorite came readily to him. So many times the voice of Percy the Paladin echoed in this room. He smiled, images of other children sitting on the floor and listening with rapt attention. And then the smiled faded slightly, turning wistful, as he noted once more the absence on the couch. How long had it been? He thought about it, a soft sigh escaping him as he did. 

The cacophony of sound came roaring into the living room as six young children ran by, swarming the couch as part of their game. Whatever monsters were chasing them were held at bay as the children climbed onto the couch and defended it as though they were on the parapets of a mighty castle. The children used their imaginary weapons, swinging wildly, to keep the formidable enemies from climbing the back of the couch and invading their fortress. It was a mighty show of strength, and he smiled as he watched the children, who were far into their fantasy. But then one of the children, a young girl, proclaimed that the defenses had been breached! All of the children rolled from the couch and began their orderly retreat from the room to find a more easily defended position. But as the children roared and fought in their retreat, daring their foes to follow, one of the youngest of the group stopped and watched as the rest ran from the living room.

The little girl, her hair braided like his, stopped and looked back into the living room. Smiling, she skipped towards the hearth and the older man sitting beside it.

“Granpa, granpa. Tell me a story.”

“A story?” he repeated, acting as if he had never heard such a request before. His face turned serious and he tilted his head slightly as he looked at the young girl standing in front of his seat.

“Yeah, granpa. Tell me,” she pleaded, though the smile on her face showed there was no true anxiety in her.

“Very well,” he said, slowly leaning forward. Carefully he reached for the young girl, who threw her arms up in the air. He carefully took hold of her and when he made to pick her up, she gave a little jump to help. Settling the child on one knee, he leaned back into his chair and winked at her. “How about another story about your great grandfather Braghaman.”

The little girl cheered as the older man began telling of some great deed. Suddenly the house grew quiet and more little faces peered around the corner into the living room. The imaginary beasts forgotten, the other children walked into the living room and sat on the floor around the hearth and listened. He glanced around the room, but did not miss a beat of his story. Nor did the pace falter when the children’s mother, concerned for the lack of sounds, peered into the room to make sure nothing had been broken. She smiled, leaned against the wall, and watched quietly. He made eye-contact with her and gave another wink.

“And there we were. I wasn’t much more than your age. We were riding on your great grandfather’s mighty lion, Valiant. And in the trees, there was a rustling sound…”