Writings from Wallace by Wallace (TJ Miller). Read and enjoy.
I watch an osprey dance and leap on the winds, playing with the sky. There is a storm coming, but he is oblivious to the world, all he knows is the sky. I was like him once, in the days of youth and love. I was that osprey and Marion was my sky. She was the wind that kept me in flight and her eyes and fire kept me oblivious of the English storm that rode up the valleys to the south. I close my eyes and breath deep, there is rain in the air, and the sea is about to rage.
The ship creaks and rocks below us as we cross the channel and make for our home. I have been too long in France. I think back to that fateful day when I left Robert on the field of battle. The bile still rises in my throat when I think of turning my back and leaving my brothers to die on that field. I clench my jaw at the thought, but mostly because I know he was right. I did have to leave the field.
In those days if I died the cause would fall apart. There was no hope for victory that day. When the Welsh arrived we were ended. We need to win this war, or else we could be like them someday. Dogs and curs to the English, fighting like slaves to help the English crush another people beneath their boot. I know that I have my own sins. Arrows from my very bow helped the English put down the Welsh rebellion and I weep at the thought. Fate brought the avenging ghosts of those fallen on the fields of Wales back to steal defeat from the jaws of victory at Falkirk. You would think that when Marion was taken from me all of my debts would have been paid, but then the ghosts came. Their arrows fell like death and rain on our lines and sealed our fate that day.
I close my eyes and tilt my head back to the heavens as the first drops of rain fall cold upon my face. A storm wind blows across the deck of the ship and plays upon my kilt and legs, and dances through my hair as lightning crashes to the North and I feel the temperature drop in anticipation of the deluge.
The ship heaves and moans as I am soaked to the core by the now pouring rain. Others flee below decks but not I. I stand and stretch my arms to the gods. I am coming home and I will be an avenging angel and I will see my people free.
Vaguely in the back of my mind I can hear Gwyn call to me that I am a damn fool and need to get below. I remember the osprey and keep my thoughts in the present as the storm now furies around me. I open my eyes and watch as the world is ripped apart by crashes of thunder and rages of light in the sky. I am become this war. The storm is an omen of it.
You were right about some things, but you were also wrong, Robert. I am not the leader that Scotland needs. All I am is this war. When it is done, there will be no place left for men like me. It is then that I will finally be able to rejoin my beloved Marion in whatever Elysian field she now finds herself.
I need you to pick up the axe and join me Robert. I am not half the leader you are. I can take you to our people’s freedom my friend, but then you will need to let me go. I have nothing left beyond this fight, Robert and when it is done, so will I be. The storm has told me I am not going to make it out of this great cause alive. I need you to rise up and be the man I need you to be, the man all of Scotland needs you to be.
Do not think for one moment Robert that I would not rather be on a farm with my Marion, bouncing my child on my knee, but the English took that option from me and have left me no choice. You have no choice either Robert but you have not realized it yet. You are one of us. I can see in your soul the rivers and hills of Scotland. Sometimes Robert, sometimes we have to stand up and fight if we ever wish to know a peace. Make the right decision my brother.
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