Barren Burdens
Roary sagged against the door, leaning heavily on the wood as he locked it behind the retreating figures of the two young men. He closed his eyes, the piercing hunger of Ian's gaze looked up at him and was swallowed by the yearning, raw need exposed in Sean's young face. He turned the sign to closed and made his way back to the shop's small office. There he pulled out his bottle of Tullamore Dew and poured a good measure into his empty tea cup. He set the bottle back thoughtfully and then moved to his chair. With a heavy sign he lowered himself into the chair and sat holding the cup in both hands and staring vacantly ahead.
What Sean had been through was so harsh. He found it hard to reconcile himself to the idea that the young boy had accepted the role of being a father while in his hound form. Yet, from the way he spoke about Cait and the pups, it certainly seemed as if he had formed a real bond, a lasting relationship. He took a long draw from the cup and swallowed, setting the cup down. Standing he ran his hands through his hair and then pummeled the wall with the flat of his hand. No boy should have to bear a burden of this nature, it was too harsh for anyone so young. Hell, it was too harsh for anyone, to find a love and create life and then be torn from it. Sean would never know what happened to that family, and it was clear he thought of Cait and the pups as family. Perhaps in time he would be able to convince himself that it was a time that never really happened. Perhaps they would all convince themselves that this time never really occurred and they would manage to push all of it away. He stalked over to his cup and tossed back the rest of his pour, almost choking on the heat of the whiskey. It would take a long time for him to convince himself that this was just a dream. He supposed for the others it would be more about putting to bed a nightmare. He gave the wall another solid slam, then turned out the lights and made his way to bed.
Morning found him staring at the ceiling waiting for a sleep that clearly was not going to come. He showered and dressed. He stood over the tea kettle trying to decide what to do. He wanted to see Lin before she left. He knew she should know what Sean had told him, but it was not really his tale to tell. He sat with his tea and picked at the toast he had made. Breakfast was not really something he could focus on right now. He got his jacket and coat and went down to the office. He found the book easily enough, wrapped it and then left. He wasn't quite sure what he planned to do, but perhaps it would come to him by the time he arrived at the cottage.
The wind, crisp and bracing, felt good on his face. He let himself concentrate on just his senses, trying to keep his mind from tracing back through either Sean's tale or the issues with Lin. As he crested the curve, he could see them packing the car. Ian and Sean were bringing out the baggage. He stopped where he was, looked about and found himself moving to a place where he could watch from cover. A place where he would not be seen. He looked down at the book in his hands, rubbing it through its wrappings, then stared at the progress being made in packing the car. Fiona had come out and was talking to the boys. They pulled out a few smaller bags and went into the cottage. A few minues later they emerged with a larger bag, which once loaded became a base upon which they replaced the smaller bags. The boot was closed then and they returned to the cottage. He had yet to see her. He moved a bit so that he could get a view into the window.
Fiona and the boys were there, but still he did not see Lin. His patience was exhausting itself. He stood, prepared to go to the door, when it opened and all four of them came out. The boys piled into the back seat. Fiona and Lin stood for a moment in front of the cottage. Roary watched for a few moments more, then finally began to move out of his hiding place. As he walked toward them, the two women turned to the car. He watched as Fiona got in first. He picked up the pace, starting to run, as Lin took her seat. He reached the drive as the car pulled away and left him standing there, with everything he had wanted to say still caught in his throat.
The wind nipped at his hair as he stood there in his silence. She was gone. It was as simple as that. He started a slow trudge down the drive. His mind clicking through moments, capturing images he would be better off forgetting. He found himself thinking of reasons to call her. In the end, he knew he could not. He still had nothing to tell her that would make what he had done less and what he knew of Sean's experience had been told in confidence. His hands and his heart were tied. He found a rock facing the sea and sat. If he could only go back in time, he would change the moment he took the notebook. No, he would have told Lin more about the legend and saved her family the pain it had gone through. The book fell from his hands as he realized that nothing he could have done would have prevented things from happening as they did. Once Lin had made her choice to care for the wounded bird, it seemed nothing could have stopped the muddle. He picked up the book, brushed the sand and debris from the wrapper. With an absentminded effort he ripped open the package.
Thumbing through the book he turned to the passages that he had read with Sean that first night. The legend of the Children of Lir was a fine old tale, well known to most natives of Ireland. He read through the passages of Aiofe's jealousy, her terrible betrayal of the King as she turned his children into swans with the awful curse. He read on, read the King's lament, his deep pain over his children. Then he read a passage he did not remember. The King and Aiofe were on the shore where she had transformed the children. He was torn with grief. Aiofe was crying, begging for forgiveness. She gave him a brooch, one that matched the drawing in the book, the one that Sean had found. She held out the three silks to him. The King took the brooch and turned in grief to the sea, yet as he walked into the sea he was surrounded by the beauty of his children's voices. The three swans came out of the sky and landed in the water, floating on the waves and surrounding their father. Aiofe fought through the swells to them, going down under the waves, and coming up almost blue. She continued on and wove the fabric around the swans in a looping pattern. Lir turned the pin in his palm. He took Aiofe's hand and crushed it in a strong grip and then reached out to pin the silks together. The story unfolded with colors and light and the transformation of the children, who though older than when they had been bound into their avian forms, did not drift into dust as they did in all the other versions of the tale. They walked from the sea hand in hand with each other and with their father. A family united.
Roary closed the book, his eyes glazed with tears. So it seemed the tale had been re-written. Or at least it had in this book. Could it be that all of their efforts had caused this change? Was it actually possible that Lir's legend was not so much fiction after all, and that somehow they had changed its outcome? He closed the book and ran his hands over the worn leather. Gazing out at the rough pummel of the sea on the rock, he found a small glow inside himself. He knew happy endings were hard to find in Irish tales. It was good to read one at last. Perhaps the family that just left would find some of their own. It seemed the best he could hope for.
He stood resignedly and began to walk the path that would lead him back to his shop. He had a great deal of sorting to do of his own if he had any hopes of finding at least a modicum of peace in his days ahead.
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