c. 1815
The gentleman stood before the gravestone dressed in black, looking for all the world as if he were come to pay his respects to a dear relative after a funeral; but for the early hour of the dark morning. The white wig he wore was a few years out of date, and he walked with a faint limp as he stepped forward to lay a hand atop the stone.
He smiled slightly, remembering the uses a strong granite gravestone can have beyond marking the dead. Sometimes, they could even be used to protect the living.
He glanced up to the manor standing before him, the windows still mostly dark as the inhabitants slept until a more reasonable hour. He had a few hours yet until the servants woke and he would be discovered, he could pay his respects now for the last and only time. Picking at his simple cuff, he winced slightly and leant against the stone, half-wondering why he didn't simply kill himself and reset his body free from scars and injuries.
"I never excelled at polite emotion." He glanced up to the stars, admiring their beauty and constancy as he spoke into the silent cold of the morning. "True emotion I can feel, certainly - but in polite society? In polite conversation? Rather would I withdraw and be labeled rude than play the hypocrite."
The constellations had been there for thousands of years, and would remain for thousands more. It was frightening that he remembered pointing the Cynosura out to his son in the days when the earth was believed flat, yet comforting that Polaris still shone in the North at night even though men had now circumnavigated the world. He followed the star to a nearby constellation, imagining what the stars must look like in closer view.
"I am uncertain as to why I even continue in this habit, in following my family down through the years. 'Tis impossible that I should ever meet you, nor that it could ever mean something to me." He sighed, closing his eyes.
It had begun sometime after he had been killed, after he had realised what a danger he was to his family. They had sheltered him and protected him for many years, some at their own cost; and he had finally disappeared, leaving himself behind. But he hadn't been able to ignore them - hadn't been able to keep from continuing following his bloodline through the firstborns of his family.
He smiled slightly. None had perhaps the most...level, of tempers - something that after so many decades he had become convinced was hereditary instead of simply a result of circumstance. Most were quite cool and collected on the surface; but most also carried immense emotion inside them, hidden beneath a calculated wall of reason. But then, there were those that acted on impulse - that followed their emotions and principles where e'er they would lead, regardless of consequence.
His legs buckled, and he slid from the stone to the cold ground. For all of the family lines he had followed down, doubling back when one died out, he was still alone. None had reappeared in likeness nor habit, nor had any reappeared after being announced dead. Still, after all these years, he had found none that shared his affliction - his blessing.
Perhaps he was fortunate, to have raised a family and have loved people before his immortality became known - would another immortal be as blessed? Perhaps their family would be divided and civil only, barren in all the ways important. Perhaps a civil war between brothers or between patriarchs would mar the man's memories...
And what of after his resurrection? After he came from the water, born again of water for the second time? To be born of water once and of spirit once was to be freed - but to be born of water twice? What meant that save the condemnation? And the betrayal, fear, isolation, and hatred that would follow...What would become of such a man? Eventually, it could not but break the soul.
He sighed again, tracing the lettering on the stone. "You were blessed, Henry. Mortality is a gift beyond all else, save perhaps love and family - you have known all three, though perhaps some in wanting.
"Your father will mourn you, whatever you may have thought - I wish that you could have carried on the line." He grimaced. "For now I believe the only recourse is through Dennis now..."
He levered himself up from the ground, glancing toward the waking house. "You were different, Henry - a son that would have made any father proud. That you parted in anger, I know he regrets beyond all else." He dusted the light snow from his trousers. "Nora will be coming out soon, to pay her respects again - even after a year she still wears mourning for you." He sighed, straightening up. "I wish that you could have raised a son – you would have been an excellent father."
AN: "Legacy is everything." And Adam is at the moment with a few borrowed back-stories, so... My apologies - I was simply musing on lineages one day and how all are in some way related to all others (actually not related to Forever at all at first...), and then I had the idea of wondering if Adam was related to Henry... C'est voila! My apologies... This scene is set right before Henry returns and meets Nora at his grave; and because I can't check my facts at the moment, and because it explains the watches, I'm pretending that Mr. Morgan died after the shipwreck. 8-25-2015