Songbird

Just last night we were all sitting by the fireside, laughing, talking, telling stories of where we came from. Just the night before, we slept in a huddled group outside the night sky, staring at the millions of stars that dotted the blanket of midnight. Just a few hours ago, there was a victory celebration over our last battle conquered.

It was quiet after all the merriment, eating and drinking had finally died down. The soft crackling of flames, the musical chirping of crickets accompanied the lullaby he played for me. His lute was laid across his lap, his slender fingers plucking the strings, a small smile on his ever mischievous face. He never ceased to lull me to sleep after seeing so many pained faces in a day's worth of battle, the gentle notes always brought a calm from the chaos of seeing so much death almost daily. I found myself relying on him much more than I thought I ever would. After all, what would I have to do with a bard?

As a medic, I never see the battle, never see the wounds actually being inflicted onto the people. I do however, see the results of it, the pain written across the faces of so many fearless warriors, the sadness that washes over everyone who dies, I see all the horrible things that war can do. It's never about the glory of victory, those rewards are for the generals. It's never about the sweet taste of coming home, those are for those who could find enough courage to come home at all. It's always about the sullen sadness which comes with the death of another soldier, it's always about the quite sobbing that I can hear from the men who refuse to believe that another comrade is dead.

It's always about the sadness.

And I can't stand that.

Maybe that's why I rely on him so much. Maybe, it's because he can lull me to sleep after a whole day of seeing a slew of sword slashes across the abdomen, intestines hanging out, and a face wrought only with pain and suffering, his simple soothing voice is enough to do that to me. And for that I'm eternally grateful. I rely on him to wash away all the blood on my hands. It's not the warriors who kill, it's the medics as well. We're the ones responsible to save lives and yet, here we are, helpless, hopeless and vulnerable when it comes to something we have never seen before.

That feeling of despair, I can't stand it.

"Hey... Hey... stop looking so gloomy... we did well today... not that many people came back wounded."

"But there were some that still were."

"Come on now, Shira, the people are still alive. What's so wrong with that?"

"They're still in pain... And I can't stand seeing that."

"There now... how come you became a medic then? Why not be a bard like me? Then you'll never have to do anything but cheer people up."

"Heechul, you're too happy for your own good... why are you even on the battle field when all you can do is cheer people on? What if someone should come and attack you?"

"Ah... see there, that is where the power of the lute lies. I swing this around and use it as a bludgeoning weapon like so! It's perfect!"

He never failed to make me laugh with the way he acts. And at a time like this, while he was swinging his instrument as if it were some great weapon of destruction. I can't help but laugh at how childish he seemed, how carefree he seemed even in the midst of war.

We laughed, we sang we told stories throughout the whole night until there was nothing but the stars, the moon and the dying embers of the fire that had once been cheerfully burning to give us light. His face was silhouetted by the silver glow of the night, an angel like look, so far apart from his fiery personality. Such duality there was with this one person, so much energy, so much life...

"I don't know what I would do without you, Heechul."

"Ah... you'll be fine. I'm not going to go anywhere! Heechul the Invincible Bard will always be here to cheer you on!"

"I know you will be."

"Of course! I'm going to make sure that you do your best here and then, when the war is over, I'm going to make sure that you'll forget all the bad things you've seen here with the happiest songs that I've been saving for the end."

"I'll look forward to hearing it."

"It'll all be over soon, Shira... I promise."

"That's why I love you so much..."

"Huh? What was that?"

"Ah... Nothing... nothing at all."

I loved him so deeply for his energy, his constant cheering on. He was the reason that I could continue helping people, he was the very reason that I was able to keep on working. I truly don't know what would happen to me should he leave my side.

I want to stay like this forever. Sleeping by his side, clutching onto his arm like a child, having his low, lulling voice calm my thoughts to an ethereal world of dreams. At times like these, I wish it wasn't warring, I wish so badly that it wasn't feuding that raged around us. At times like these, I simply wish that we could be together like this, content, happy, at peace, and in love.

That was just last night.

By the time the sun set the next day, he had become a departed soul.

"Stray arrow... went right to his heart while he was trying to cheer us on. Poor guy was dead before he knew what happened. Cross bow will do that to you... " Lieutenant Hankyung had told me in an attempt to ease the pain that I had felt in my heart. I was a medic, I was supposed to be able to heal people, help people, save lives, how was it that I couldn't save the one that I cared about the most? What was wrong with me? Why? Why couldn't I do anything?

Nothing in this world can ever erase that image from my mind. The sight of his cold body laying in front of me on a cot. The blood still dripping from his body, though it had stopped flowing by the time he got back to camp, carried on a stretcher by two soldiers, both of whom knew him almost as well as I did. Nothing in this world can ever erase the sight of his skin, so sickly pale, so cold and inanimate. His eyes had been closed by one of the soldiers that had brought him back to the camp.

But something was missing from that image, as grotesque as it was, as sick and twisted as it was, I couldn't bring myself to accept the corpse just like that. There was something beyond the cold body that lay before me. The way his face was when he died, a face that is so stone like, stoic, peaceful, so unlike him. I couldn't bear myself to see it any more than I had to, just once was enough for me.

That evening, I felt as if I was in a trance, as if nothing could ever break me away from the haze of despair that I felt. I couldn't bring myself to weep, I couldn't bring myself to do anything but to sit by his body, covered by the white cloth. My heart screamed at me to peel it back, to shake him awake and force him to tell me it was all a joke. Here laid the man that I brought joy to the gloom of my task as a medic, the bright sunshine in the fog of pain that is forced upon me every day, here was the man who was the twittering songbird that promised a bright future.

I loved him so much for all that he did.

And he broke his promise.

He promised me so much, told me so many beautiful stories; and I believed him. I believed every word he said, laughed at all his bad jokes, sang to every tune he taught me, played and loved him for everything he was. And yet, when he disappeared from my life, I'm the only one who does not mourn for him.

"He was a good man." Lord Hankyung murmured softly, sitting by my side after much of the gloom had been swept away to slumber by the late hour.

"Yes... he was."

"Went down swinging even at the end. No one could help it though, the arrow came out nowhere."

He had been the one who wept the most. The one who sobbed at the sight of the dead body. Never did I imagine the stern general to break down like that. Such a display of emotion from him was unheard of him. It was a spectacle to see, the one at the front lines screaming victory, directing fearless men, showing no emotion other than indifference sobbing for a member of the troops who did what he could not. Cheer on the troops, keep the moral up and the energy going until the battle was over.

"He was one of the strongest men I know, my Lord..."

"He was. But the strongest man is also the most fragile."

"I know... he's proof of that... If you excuse me general, I have the urge to go somewhere."

"Very well. Shall I accompany you?"

"No... I'll be alright."

"Alright then... good night."

"Good night, my Lord."

I found myself wandering the battlefield, the one that was still warm with the freshly dead bodies, the one littered with discarded and blood stained weapons. Bodies, ones that couldn't be retrieved, ones too mangled to be able to have been brought back, were strewn across the expanse as if they were dolls thrown out by a bored child. It was there where I found my answer to what was missing with his corpse. Guided by the full moon that night, I found what left a hole in my heart when I saw Heechul that one last time. It was there, in that blood soaked ground that I found the answer to what was missing from my life.

Battered, worn, broken into more pieces I could count and scattered all round, I found the pieces to his precious lute. The one thing that wasn't with him the time that he was brought into camp. Albeit, they were simply shards of wood with strings in there to create nothing but useless sounds that were appealing. Albeit it was nothing of use anymore, it would never create another song, never sing to me again, it would never be in the hands of the man I grew to love so much. It still belonged to him, with him, not here on this place of violence and death.

No. It belonged with the man who sang me to sleep, the one who held me when it was cold. The one, the only one, who could comfort me when the blood came too much. This lute belonged to him, not the bloodied remnants of war, even in its mangled form, it still held his soul. And I wanted to do nothing more than to return that back to him.

Bringing those pieces back to the camp, seeing them in a better light against the fire made me ache to see him again, yearn for him to whisper those silly nonsensical words into my ears. But most of all, I wanted to hear him say those three words that I didn't have the courage to tell him. The one that came to me after it was too late to say them. The only audience now for those words to mean anything, is a frozen dead man.

One that could never, ever say anything to me again.

I could have told him last night.

I could have told him the first time I met him.

I could have told him the moment that I realized this.

So why did I wait?

Why did it take so long for me to have the courage for those three words to finally come though?

"One sided love is the sign of a gentle soul... so if you ever experience it, you should tell me who it is... so you don't have to be so gentle anymore."

"But! I don't love anyone! All the men here scare me!"

"Even me?"

"Well... except for you Heechul, you're the only one who ever tries to talk to me. And you sing pretty songs."

"So I'm a friend?"

"The best one ever!"

"That's reassuring I guess. Well then. You can count on me to be with you for a while then!"

"Why?"

"Because all the other people here scare me."

"Are you always this silly?"

"Only around you."

The sound of the broken chips of wood falling into a sack sounded so empty, devoid of anything musical that once came from the gently carved frame. The strings made no sound at all when they finally went into the bag after the shattered pieces of the lute. Part of me wanted to burn the bag, to forget all the lies that he had told me, all the crude jokes, everything and start anew. And yet, another part of me, the part that won against the raging, screaming me, only brought it over to the dead body and laid the black back on his hand. Returning to him the one thing that brought him the most joy.

I had to come to terms with him. Dead or not, he had to know what I felt. "I love you."

Three simple words.

Universal.

Everlasting.

His body, so cold, so stiff now with rigor mortis only made me want to pray for him to come back. My hands were shaking, though they knew what they had to. They had to see him once again, in that peaceful, stoic, sleeping form of his, his red hair splayed out, framing his strong cheeks, his delicate eyelashes, and the face of the prince that I had grown to love so deeply.

"I love you..."

Somewhere, beyond the rosy pink of the dawn that slowly rose past the forest in the east. Somewhere, in a land without war, where his songs of joy were always sung, he was smiling, watching the clouds upon a blue sky, unlike the one that was stained red with blood. In a place so distant from the one that I'm bound to, somewhere, past that delicate rosebud pink, he holds me close and whispers sweet nothings.

But, until it's my own time to join him in that far away land. He can only listen to my three words on this human world. In this world filled with fear and with war. The only thing that I can do is move on, cherish all that he did for me. Remember his words, his songs, his cheer and his love. He never told me, he never once did say to me that he did have feelings for me. But, I could tell, his actions, his words, his caring, that was enough love from him. That's all I needed.

The memory of it will help me carry on. They'll help me move and see this to the end. Every morning dawns with the music of a songbird. One that sings his songs.

The very one that I grew to love.

The End.