Once I was seven years old, my mama told me,
"Go make yourself some friends or you'll be lonely."
Once I was seven years old
"Janus," said the sakura-haired woman. "you be good while we're gone okay?" Her kind blue eyes stared at me as though she was seeing me for the first, or the last, time. She tussled my raven locks and planted her lips on my forehead. "Stay strong, my love, but remember to make friends. You don't need a lot, just two or three will do. They can be strong when you can't." Were those tears? "I love you so much."
It was a big big world, but we thought we were bigger
Pushing each other to the limits, we were learning quicker
By eleven smoking herb and drinking burning liquor
Never rich so we were out to make that steady figure
The clash of gold on gold echoed around the courtyard. It had been four years. They hadn't returned. Who needed them, though? They were weak. I would become strong. "Quinitilis!" called out the Praetor, a man named Brutus. "Good set, faster now, son." He'd become like a father to me. He'd push me and bend me, but never break me. He knew me. "Son," he'd say as we broke for lunch. "One day, I see you becoming the greatest Praetor the Legion has ever seen." His grey eyes stared out across the fields. With a sudden grin, he handed me his flask and I took a swig. Retching and gagging, I nearly threw up my lunch. He was laughing.
Once I was eleven years old, my daddy told me,
"Go get yourself a wife or you'll be lonely."
Once I was eleven years old
"Son," his voice said, flatly, almost…sadly. "If you ever find someone special, never let her go, okay?" His eyes were glued to a graying woman dressed in a simple red qipao. She held a basket of flowers in one arm and balanced a jug of water on her head. She was beautiful in her age. "Don't ever, ever let her go."
I always had that dream, like my daddy before me
So I started writing songs, I started writing stories
Something about that glory just always seemed to bore me
'Cause only those I really love will ever really know me
"I'm gonna be Praetor some day!" I cried. "Just like my dad!" The Primus boys laughed and shoved me in the dirt, kicking me, hard. "Just you watch," I whimper through my teeth. I clean myself and undress, before sitting at the small centurion's desk and furiously tackling the paperwork presented to me. "One day," I whispered to myself as I touched the small metal disks dangling from my necklace. "I promise."
Once I was twenty years old, my story got told
Before the morning sun, when life was lonely
Once I was twenty years old
"Praetor Romulus Janus Quintilis," the name was called. As always, it took a minute before I recognized my own name. I stood and approached the podium. The crowd of soldiers stared at me as I cleared my throat. This was the moment.
I only see my goals, I don't believe in failure
'Cause I know the smallest voices, they can make it major
I got my boys with me, at least those in favor
And if we don't meet before I leave, I hope I'll see you later
I'd attained my rank of Praetor. The Legion answered to me. "I did it, father," I whispered to myself. "I hope you're proud of me, wherever you are." I leaned against the wall of my tent as I drained the flask. It burned all the way down.
"Praetor?" a muffled voice called. The tent door swished open and a few Quintilis boys came in. They helped me to my feet and one small child wrapped his arms around my leg.
"I'll be okay," I reassured them. I only wish I could've reassured myself.
Once I was twenty years old, my story got told
I was writing about everything I saw before me
Once I was twenty years old
The papers in front of me weren't orders or treatises or pardons or files of any kind. I'd started keeping a journal of…everything. A life like mine, catapulted to the top so quickly, it left very little time for hobbies. This became my only escape.
Soon we'll be thirty years old, our songs have been sold
We've traveled around the world and we're still roaming
Soon we'll be thirty years old
Mistral, Vacuo, Vale, Atlas, Menagerie—I'd seen them all, fought battles on every landmass it seemed. The ever-travelling Legion. I sighed to myself. I only wished I could've stayed. So many rescued villages, towns, people. So many grateful citizens of the world. But none of that is for me. It is for them. And it is why I must continue onwards. No rest for the weary.
I'm still learning about life
My woman brought children for me
So I can sing them all my songs
And I can tell them stories
Most of my boys are with me
Some are still out seeking glory
And some I had to leave behind
My brother, I'm still sorry
Aisling Kymopoleia is what we name her. She's beautiful. She has her mother's eyes. Lia is pregnant again. I'm hoping for a little boy. Someday I will tell them tales. Someday I'll tell them about their grandparents that they'll never meet. Someday.
Quintilis is growing. So many strong and healthy youth and so many new recruits that have heard of the bravery of the Fifth Cohort and want nothing more than to join. Our Legion is strong for it.
I haven't seen Duncan and Valentin in…years. I hope they're well. I hear that they've adopted a small girl, orphaned in the wars. I hope they're well…
And Sienna…Sienna went her own path. The new Legatus Quintilis is fierce and independent, with wild eyes and skin the color of the night sky. She reminds me of Sienna.
I miss her. I wish I could tell her I'm sorry.
Soon I'll be sixty years old, my daddy got sixty-one
Remember life, and then your life becomes a better one
I made a man so happy when I wrote a letter once
I hope my children come and visit once or twice a month
The first grey shows up. Surprising that we've lasted this long. Aisling has…in every way surpassed her parents and her grandparents. She's a true warrior. Ruby trains with her every day and I'm so thankful that she's out there, making a difference.
Father died yesterday. Mother hasn't said much, but I know she's taking it so very hard. This war will break us all unless we can find the courage to go on. I never thought I'd say this but, I'm optimistic. I blame Opaelia.
I delivered the first casualty letter. The man cried when I told him of his husband's death, but he thanked me. Thanked me… He kissed my cheeks with wet lips and clutched at the pendant I'd delivered. I suppose just knowing that someone else is grieving too can help. The man was a Quintilis, after all.
Juliet and Aisling should arrive any day now. I only get to see my daughter and her wife a few times a year. War is hard. They are my bright light.
Soon I'll be sixty years old, will I think the world is cold
Or will I have a lot of children who can warm me?
Soon I'll be sixty years old
Soon I'll be sixty years old, will I think the world is cold
Or will I have a lot of children who can warm me?
Soon I'll be sixty years old
The war is over. I wouldn't call it won, but…well. I survived and so did most of my family. So many others didn't. The final death toll was…catastrophic. But we're still here. I don't know if that makes my a cynic or an optimist.
Juliet visited again today. She still wears the ring. It makes me happy.
Once I was seven years old, my mama told me,
"Go make yourself some friends or you'll be lonely."
Once I was seven years old
Mother died today. I still remember her words so many decades ago. Muted colors but I still remember her hair and eyes. I remember her soft voice. "Remember to make friends. You don't need a lot, just two or three will do. They will be strong when you can't be." Juliet nods and hugs me. I hug back with weak arms. She slings the pack over her shoulder and walks out the door.
Once I was seven years old
I look over at the picture frame. A tall goddess of a woman, a stocky military man—mother and father. A gorgeous blonde—Lia. Two punk brats with multi-colored hair and silly faces—Aisling and Juliet. I touch the picture and the slender ring that sits beneath it. I remember how she used to listen to me, enraptured in my tales. I weakly clear my throat. "Once, I was seven years old…"